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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714787">I Grow Fonder Every Day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrelie/pseuds/Drarrelie'>Drarrelie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Drarrelie's Jukebox [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aladdin (Disney Movies) References, Angst, Based on an Adele Song, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Friends to Lovers, H/D Wireless 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Music, Jealous Draco Malfoy, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Misunderstandings, Non-Linear Narrative, OMG! They Were Flatmates, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Harry Potter, POV Alternating, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Pining, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Present Tense, Secret Crush, Sexual Content, flatmates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:35:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714787</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrelie/pseuds/Drarrelie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco still doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse, sharing a flat in Muggle London with Harry Potter.</p><p>It’s all Draco’s ever wanted — more than he’d ever wished for. And if it entails suppressing his inconvenient feelings for the man, so what? He’s perfectly happy with his life as it is, perfectly content with just having Potter close and enjoying his company.</p><p>That is, until one Friday evening at the beginning of April when the end starts.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Drarrelie's Jukebox [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568974</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>HD Wireless 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Intro</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="https://airtable.com/shroHVDwgPr48V4fl/tblRLhn0AWqr5As1L/viwBICHnZUtV54YrF/reciN12Z7S8txk6oA">prompt #59: <b>One and Only</b> by <b>Adele</b></a></p><p>Aceveria, as soon as I laid eyes on your prompt I knew it was The One And Only for me and that I just <i>had</i> to write this fic. Adele and Drarry are my two greatest weaknesses, and getting the opportunity to combine the two was just something I wasn’t able to resist. You asked for longing and mutual pining, feelings this song have in abundance, and I hope this fic lives up to your expectations.</p><p>If you, dear reader, aren’t familiar with this song already, make sure to <a href="https://spoti.fi/2B9Vag4">listen to it, because it’s simply perfection</a>.</p><p><a href="/users/TheLightFury">TheLightFury</a> — my beloved Alpha, Beta, and Grand Master of Enthusiastic Squeals and Cheering Support — I’ve been dying to collab with you ever since we first met in the comments of one of our fics. I always knew I’d turn to you the next time I were to write a music-inspired Drarry, and I’m so happy you agreed to come along on this journey with me. If it hadn’t been for you, this fic had probably never been completed, and you know why… (let’s not mention that disaster, all right?)  I’m so immensely grateful for all that you’ve done and I hope you won’t be averse to the thought of more collabs in the future.</p><p><b>Disclaimer</b>: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>INTRO</strong>
</p><p>(n.) <em>The opening section of a song or tune.</em></p><hr/><p>Draco still doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse, sharing a flat in Muggle London with Harry Potter.</p><p>He’s still not all that convinced it’s not perfectly possible to die from excessive pining, to be crushed under the weight of this major (and altogether futile) crush he’s been secretly harbouring for longer than he’s willing to admit. At the same time, most days he’s still a little dazed by the fact that they, after everything they’ve been through, actually seem capable of living together in such close proximity without hexing each other senseless; that they actually seem able to get along quite amicably these days.</p><p>It’s all Draco’s ever wanted — more than he’d ever wished for. And if it entails suppressing his inconvenient feelings for the man, so what? He’s perfectly happy with his life as it is, perfectly content with just having Potter close and enjoying his company.</p><p>That is, until one Friday evening in early April when the end starts.</p><hr/><p>The sound of another exasperated sigh finds its way into the sitting room, interrupting Draco’s umpteenth attempt to take in the content of the paragraph he’s been staring at for the last fifteen minutes. After more than two years as flatmates, Draco still doesn’t know why Potter seems incapable of closing his bedroom door, always insisting on leaving it open a crack, making it impossible for Draco to forget for even a minute that he’s there.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing in there?” Draco calls, “I haven’t heard you so frustrated since that time when you had to go halfway across town for your shopping for six months after <em>The Prophet</em> spotted you at Tescos. What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing’s wrong,” Potter calls back over some nondescript shuffling. His answer is followed by a grumbled non-magical curse that immediately negates the previous statement. “I just…”</p><p>Potter’s voice drifts off before delivering anything of value to their conversation; another irritating habit of his that has a tendency to drive Draco insane even at the best of times.</p><p>Draco waits patiently for a few moments, giving Potter a chance to continue his unfinished sentence before asking, “You sure about that?”</p><p>The shuffling stops, eventually replaced by muted footfalls as Potter exits his room and walks through their flat to appear in the doorway.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>For a split second, Draco’s torn between keeping his manners and holding onto his self-preservation. Manners prevail, however, and he instantly regrets it as he looks up and is met with the sight of a half-naked Potter, ‘dressed’ only in a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair is still damp, most likely from another mediocre towel-dry, and his bare chest is glistening from the droplets caught in the curly hairs spread out between his nipples and running down the middle past his navel and towards—</p><p>Draco swallows. Clears his throat.</p><p>“What are you so worked up about?” he asks once he’s finally able to remember how to form a coherent thought. Then, inexplicably, “Is there anything I can help you with?”</p><p>Apparently, coherent and sensible are not the same thing.</p><p>“No. Well…” Potter hums and reaches back to scratch the nape of his neck. “Maybe? If you’re… what's the word you always use? Oh yeah, 'amenable',” he adds with the hint of a smirk and — <em>oh, no</em> — those pleading puppy dog eyes that he shouldn’t be allowed to direct Draco’s way and are absolutely fucking impossible to say no to.</p><p>Draco closes the book he hasn’t been reading and puts it on the side table next to his armchair, surrendering.</p><p>“Very well, Potter,” he says levelly, determined not to let show how easily he can be persuaded by the man these days. “What can I do for you?”</p><p>“Help me pick out a suitable outfit for my date tonight?” Potter says, curving the corner of his mouth into a sheepish smile as he bites his lip, thereby causing Draco’s poor heart to skip a beat.</p><p>Promptly closing his eyes, hoping to come off as annoyed rather than anything else, Draco pinches the bridge of his nose.</p><p>“Sure,” he sighs. “Just…” Draco steels himself and rises from his chair, careful not to look at Potter as he shoos him in the direction of his bedroom. “Just tell me about this date,” he says to Potter’s uncovered back, powerless to stop his gaze from following the trail of droplets trickling down the length of Potter’s spine. “Who is it and where are you going?”</p><p>“We’re going to this really posh Muggle restaurant. French, I think,” Potter says over his shoulder as he cards his fingers through his hair. The taut muscles in those arms — not to mention the way their high position affects the lines of Potter’s waist — are distracting enough for Draco to nearly miss what the man is saying. “He seems to be very partial to everything French,” Potter chuckles. “Maybe not that surprising, since he went to Beauxbatons.”</p><p>His chuckle is deep and rich and— <em>Wait… What?</em></p><p>“He’s a <em>wizard</em>?” Draco blurts, immediately wincing at the strained tone in his voice. Potter turns around to look at him with an amused smirk and one bushy eyebrow raised in question. “I-I thought you only dated Muggles?”</p><p>Potter shrugs and Draco watches as his smile falters.</p><p>“Usually, yes,” he says, frowning as he searches Draco’s face for clues Draco sincerely hopes aren’t to be found. “But that’s only because British witches and wizards tend to want to date Potter, <em>‘The War Hero’</em>, and not Harry, the man behind the myth.”</p><p>Draco knows better than most what Potter’s talking about. After all, dating with a reputation hasn’t been easy for him either, even if their respective fame in the wizarding world have always been vastly disparate. It took some time before Draco accepted it, of course — before he accepted that his love life would never become more than casual flings with random Muggles — and up until mere moments ago, he’d thought Potter had done the same. For some reason, the unexpected notion that this might not be the case feels oddly unsettling.</p><p>“And this one doesn’t?” The words are out of Draco’s mouth before he’s able to stop them.</p><p>“No,” Potter says, shaking his head lightly and turning back around to walk the last few steps up to his bedroom door, disappearing into his inner sanctum. “He’s not the least bit interested in British politics. And believe it or not, he didn’t even react to the mention of my name when Fleur first introduced us.”</p><p>Draco follows cautiously, still hesitant to enter Potter’s room even after such a long time living together. He knows Potter doesn’t mind him being in there, but it still feels surreal knowing he has somehow become one of only a handful of people allowed inside. If his fifteen-year-old self only knew…</p><p>Potter’s room looks nothing like teenage Draco would’ve ever imagined it. Back then, Draco could only envision his adversary and secret crush surrounded in Gryffindor red and gold, dark wood and warm, flickering firelight. Instead, what meets Draco now, is dove grey, silver, and deep muted shades of green, blue, and purple. It’s like walking into an underwater cave and combined with Potter’s scent closing in around him as soon as he crosses the threshold, it feels almost otherworldly.</p><p>There was a time when Draco’s highest wish had been to be invited into the great Harry Potter’s bedroom. That dream has long since lost its mystique, though. After sharing a flat with the ‘man behind the myth’ for over two years, Draco has learnt all about Potter’s annoying quirks and bad habits — like his tendency to sing in the shower at silly a.m., or how he never remembers to water the plants, and how he always treats his clothes as if they were nothing but rags ready for the dumpster. (Well, maybe that last one isn’t such a surprise considering what his personal attire looked like when they were kids, but still.) And today is no exception. Rather the opposite, in fact. Not even living with him for so long could’ve ever prepared Draco for this.</p><p>“What the hell happened in here?”</p><p>Draco’s eyes widen as they take in the state of the room. Clothes are strewn everywhere, haphazardly and carelessly, and Draco doubts there’s even one piece of clothing still residing in the wardrobe. The dresser is gaping open, all drawers pulled out and rummaged through, their contents strewn all over the floor. It looks as if they’ve had burglars popping by for a visit, looking for something invaluable and highly important. For a brief moment, Draco feels all colour drain from his face, until he remembers Potter telling him he got rid of the Elder Wand a long time ago.</p><p>“I…” Potter lowers his gaze and blushes, and <em>fuck </em>if that wasn’t the last thing Draco needed right now. “I just…”</p><p>And that’s when Draco understands how serious this is. Potter — the notoriously reckless Gryffindor, the run-straight-into-danger-without-even-thinking hero, the Boy Who Lived to Vanquish Voldemort — is nervous. He’s nervous about going on a date. With a wizard. With a posh Beauxbatons wizard.</p><p>Draco is not prepared for the violent stab of pain hitting him square in the chest.</p><p>
  <em>He doesn’t want you, Draco, you already know that. Just pull yourself together, damn it.</em>
</p><p>“So…” Draco clears his throat and tears his eyes away from those rosy cheeks. He takes a few careful steps into the room, levitating discarded garments onto the bed as he goes. “Posh French restaurant, you say?”</p><p>“Mm-hmm… and Muggle,” Potter mumbles.</p><p>“And what’s wrong with your usual dating attire? You don’t look too horrible these days, you know?”</p><p>Draco’s grateful he’s got his face turned away from Potter as he realises what he just said. Why on earth would something like that suddenly slip out of his mouth? It’s true that Potter’s learnt to dress quite well lately — with all the advice Draco’s given him since he moved in, Draco’s even prone to take most of the credit for that — but there’s no reason to <em>tell </em>the prat that, for Salazar’s sake.</p><p>“You think?” Potter sounds awfully pleased and something clenches in the pit of Draco’s stomach.</p><p>“Don’t let it go to your head, Potter,” Draco mutters, “it’s already big enough as it is.”</p><p>There’s a beat of silence before Potter says, “Anyway…” in that voice that tells Draco without looking that he’s managed to bring his flatmate back down to earth. “I don’t want to mess up this date. Royce is rather proper and I get a feeling he wants everything <em>just right</em>. Much like you, really,” he adds with another chuckle. “I guess it’s a pure-blood thing.”</p><p>
  <em>He’s a pure-blood too?</em>
</p><p>As if this bloke being a wizard wasn’t enough? Draco suddenly feels like he wants to crumble to pieces right there on Potter’s messy bedroom floor. But he doesn’t. Instead, he applies his detached Malfoy mask and decides to get this farce over with as quickly as possible.</p><p>Despite the chaos, it doesn’t take long for Draco to find what he’s looking for; the white button-down with the dark green trimmings that brings out the brilliance of his eyes; those nice leather shoes he never wears; and where… — <em>yes, there it is</em> — that black suit Potter bought for Granger’s fancy birthday party last year; the one with those hip-hugging trousers that make his arse look absolutely fabulous. Just because Draco’s pathetic doesn’t mean he won’t help Potter look nice if that’s what the man needs him for, apparently.</p><p>“Here,” he says, still unwilling to look Potter in the eye as he hands him the collected clothes. “I hope you can at least choose the underwear yourself.”</p><p>It’s meant to be a friendly jab but comes out as a curt sneer, and Draco doesn’t even have it in him to care. He heads for the door, wanting to leave Potter to his mess as soon as humanly possible, making it all the way out in the hall before Potter suddenly blurts, “Tie?”</p><p>“Huh?” Draco huffs, staring blankly at the opposite wall. The royal blue pattern of the wallpaper stares back, needlessly reminding him of their bickering at the store as they picked it out together last year. Merlin, they must’ve sounded like an old married c— </p><p>“I’ll need a tie, too. I don’t know which—”</p><p>“The emerald green one,” Draco sighs. <em>The one I gave you for Christmas.</em></p><p>He clenches his jaw and decidedly ignores Potter’s murmured, “Thank you, Draco,” as he takes refuge in their tiny kitchen. He’s in dire need of a cup of tea if he’s ever going to calm his frazzled nerves.</p><hr/><p>“Draco, you okay?”</p><p>He’s in his usual seat by the kitchen table when Potter’s soft voice reaches him from behind. Draco has always preferred this spot since it offers him the view out the window, but the element of surprise it gives Potter now is definitely a disadvantage.</p><p>Potter shouldn’t be allowed to sound so concerned, especially not when he’s on his way to meet up with a posh pure-blood wizard. A wizard who’s probably the bee’s knees and will sweep Potter off his feet faster than Longbottom can say Mimbulus mimbletonia.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Draco sneers, his eyes locked on the empty cup he’s still cradling in his hands. “No need to worry, Potter, I’m—”</p><p>“Harry,” Potter says, cutting Draco off mid-sentence as he walks over to slump down in his chair across from Draco. He tilts his head in an attempt to catch Draco’s eye. </p><p>“My name is Harry,” he says, in that gentle voice of his that he only ever uses when talking to animals or trying to comfort an upset child. “Why won’t you ever use it?”</p><p><em>Self-preservation, that’s why</em>.<em> Nothing but pure, Slytherin self-preservation.</em></p><p>Draco needs that last barrier of abrasiveness to hold himself together whenever he’s in Potter’s proximity. Just as he always has.</p><p>Not that he would ever admit it, of course. Instead, he only raises his gaze to glare at the man before him.</p><p>“Come on,” Potter urges, “just the once?” Draco narrows his eyes, only to be met by an amused smirk. “It’s easy, just repeat after me: ‘Have’.”</p><p>Draco sighs and rolls his eyes, trying not to acknowledge the way Potter’s smile widens as he obliges. “Have.”</p><p>“Good!” Potter says with an enthusiastic nod. “Now: ‘Really’.”</p><p>“Really.”</p><p>“Ha…”</p><p>“Ha…”</p><p>“Ree…”</p><p>“Ree…”</p><p>“Ha. Ree.”</p><p>“Ha. Ree.”</p><p>“Harry?”</p><p>Draco scowls at Potter’s hopeful smile.</p><p>“Potter.”</p><p>This time Potter’s the one to roll his eyes.</p><p>“You’re impossible, you know that?” he laughs.</p><p>“And you’re insufferable,” Draco mutters, shaking his head.</p><p>Potter watches him closely, his gaze burning a trail of heat over Draco’s skin. When Draco meets his eyes, they’re soft and warm. “Draco…?” he says, frowning. “Are you sure you’re all ri—”</p><p>“Potter, I’m fine,” Draco interrupts, unable to handle any more of Potter’s concern. “Now go, before you risk being late. It’s not good form to keep your date waiting.”</p><p>“Okay, if you’re sure…”</p><p>He still sounds uncertain, and the clutch on Draco’s heart tightens from his futile longing threatening to interpret Potter’s words into something more than they actually are. Draco forces a faint smile on his lips and looks up at the man who’s so perfect and kind and caring and— so out of Draco’s league, it’s not even funny.</p><p>“Just go,” he says. “Have fun. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”</p><p>“I won’t,” Potter smiles, rising from his chair and squeezing Draco’s shoulder as he passes on his way towards the hall. “Thank you, Draco.”</p><p>Draco manages to hold his tears back until the front door closes and he’s left alone in their silent flat.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Build-Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>BUILD-UP</strong>
</p>
<p> (n.) <em>An increase, especially one that is gradual.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Malfoys don’t cry.</p>
<p>It’s one of the basic rules in the Malfoy household, together with impeccable table manners, a flawless posture and the ability to school your face from showing any and all emotions. Malfoys don’t cry. It’s been ingrained into Draco all his life, one of those habits seemingly impossible to break.</p>
<p>So Draco doesn’t cry.</p>
<p>Ever.</p>
<p>He sheds tears, though. Hot, burning tears, silently trickling down his cheeks when he’s sure no one’s watching. They make his eyes look awful, red and puffy, and it always takes him forever to regain his composure afterwards.</p>
<p>By the time Potter returns from his date, Draco’s almost sure all visible traces of his previous tears are gone. On the inside, however, he’s still raw and sore, and as he makes a dive for the remote upon hearing Potter by the front door, Draco berates himself for his ill-considered movie choice.</p>
<p>
  <em>Already?</em>
</p>
<p><em>Fuck. </em>Draco must have lost track of time. He had no idea it was so late.</p>
<p>Swallowing down the fresh lump in his throat, he sets down the tub of ice cream on the floor. Hopefully, Potter will be too high on his bloody date endorphins to notice it before Draco has a chance to return it to the freezer.</p>
<p>The door hasn’t even clicked shut before Potter’s cheerful voice reaches him from the hallway.</p>
<p>“Draco?” <em>Why can’t he stop calling me that?</em> “I’m home.”</p>
<p>“Obviously.” Draco’s attempt at indifferent nonchalance isn’t entirely successful, but compared to ‘weak and pathetic’, ‘brusque and snappish’ is at least passable.</p>
<p>Draco clears his throat and quickly stands from his seat on the couch, smoothing out his clothes as Potter turns the corner and comes into view. There’s a broad smile on his face, that genuine Potter Smile that always makes Draco’s heart beat a little faster, and his eyes are glittering with what can only be interpreted as happiness.</p>
<p>“Oh,” he says curious before nodding towards the telly. “Were you watching something?”</p>
<p>“No,” Draco blurts, watching Potter’s bushy eyebrows rise in question. Draco follows his gaze to the telltale remotes lying on the coffee table. “Well, I mean… It just ended.”</p>
<p>Potter’s smirk is not sexy at all, only annoying. “What was it?”</p>
<p>Draco shrugs. “Nothing special. Nothing you haven’t already seen.”</p>
<p>Instead of just leaving it at that, as Draco hoped he would, the git just grins and waggles his eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Was it porn?”</p>
<p>“NO! For fuck’s sake, Potter!” Draco’s voice doesn’t even sound like his own. It’s high-pitched and squeaky and altogether undignified. “That was <em>one</em> time, it was an <em>accident</em>, and it was <em>traumatising</em>.”</p>
<p>Potter chuckles with a shake of his head. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”</p>
<p>Draco can only glare at him, hands on his hips as he fights the fierce blush invading his cheeks. For all that he takes pride in his pale complexion, it can be terribly impractical at times.</p>
<p>Potter’s smile falters under Draco’s unamused stare, leaving room for a concerned frown. Draco immediately misses it. After all, there’s nothing quite like the sight of Potter’s smile.</p>
<p>Eventually, after an eternity of silence, Potter gestures vaguely towards the kitchen and blurts, out of the blue. “I was thinking about fixing some tea. Would you like some?”</p>
<p>Although the change of topic is most welcome, the sudden change of tack takes Draco by surprise.</p>
<p>“Sure,” he says reflexively while his brain tries to catch up.</p>
<p>Potter’s face lights up. “Great!” he says, all but bouncing in place for no logical reason whatsoever. For a moment, he seems about to say something more, but then he apparently changes his mind. Instead, he turns on his heel and Draco can only watch his retreating back — or rather, his perfectly rounded arse — as he heads for the kitchen.</p>
<p>Draco is confused. Granted, Potter is almost always restless and fidgeting, but Draco can’t remember ever seeing his flatmate this exuberant.</p>
<p><em>It’s date endorphins</em>, Draco’s mind helpfully supplies. <em>Can’t you see he’s infatuated?</em></p>
<p>Draco suppresses the thought as quickly as it has emerged, instead willing himself to focus on something less likely to break his heart. He can hear Potter shuffling around in the kitchen, pouring water, flicking the switch on the kettle and preparing their mugs. Draco frowns. There’s no reason for the man to want tea now, not just after coming home from a dinner date. Surely, he must have had his evening fill already together with dessert?</p>
<p>
  <em>They probably didn’t have time for any of that considering all the kissing they had to do.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, shut up!</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>What? You should be happy for him. He hasn’t looked this cheerful in ages.</em>
</p>
<p>Draco groans. Potter <em>does</em> seem to be in a really good mood. And Draco <em>should</em> be happy for him. He <em>has</em> to be. Because he’s Potter’s friend, and friends like to see each other happy, right?</p>
<p>Right.</p>
<p>Determined, utilising a skill his mother once taught him — a skill he’s perfected through a lifetime of practice — Draco pushes his emotions back into their confined space at the back of his mind. Forcing his lips into a faint smile, he follows Potter into the kitchen.</p>
<p>He stops in the doorway, temporarily taken aback by the sight of Potter busying around in their kitchen, looking absolutely dashing dressed in his best suit. Draco had planned to go straight for his usual seat at the table, but as his knees go weak enough not to be trusted to take him those final few steps, he opts for casually leaning against the doorframe instead.</p>
<p>He really doesn’t want to know — really, <em>really </em>doesn’t — but since he’s a good friend, he asks anyway.</p>
<p>“So, how was it?”</p>
<p>Potter turns around to face him, leaning back against the counter. He still has that brilliant smile on his face, and Draco wishes he were the one who put it there. He knows he isn’t. He knows it’s there thanks to a French pure-blood wizard named <em>Royce</em>.</p>
<p>“Oh, Draco, it was brilliant! You would’ve loved the place,” Potter assures him, totally oblivious to Draco’s slowly crumbling heart. “D’you know, they even had a pianist in a corner, and fresh flowers on the tables, and the food… Oh Godric, the food. It was amazing…”</p>
<p>Potter drifts off, apparently caught up in a memory too pleasant for Draco to even want to try to envision. Whatever Potter’s had for dinner, Draco’s sure his own miserable baked beans on toast could never compete. Yet, he asks.</p>
<p>“What did you have?”</p>
<p>He shouldn’t have asked.</p>
<p>Apparently, Draco’s a masochist.</p>
<p>“Believe it or not,” Potter grins, almost bubbling over with giddiness, “I had <em>scallops</em> for starters… and they were bloody amazing!”</p>
<p>Draco isn’t prepared for the metaphorical dagger as it hits him straight in the chest. Draco loves scallops. Potter, on the other hand, doesn’t. In fact, Draco’s been trying, and failing, to get his flatmate to change his mind on the subject on various occasions. The notion of this bloke — this <em>Royce</em> — accomplishing it in one single evening…</p>
<p>
  <em>Come on, Draco. Deep breaths. You’re his friend.</em>
</p>
<p>“’Amazing’? <em>Really?</em>”</p>
<p>“Yes, they were!” Potter’s smile doesn’t falter even for a moment. “Oh, don’t you look so sceptical, Draco. Trust me, you just <em>have</em> to go try them sometime. I’d be happy to take you if…”</p>
<p>“No thanks,” Draco sneers. There’s no way he’ll accept a pity-date from the man who’s currently crushing his heart.</p>
<p>Potter turns around, reaching for the just-boiled kettle to pour water into their mugs. Draco senses a shift in the air, the atmosphere in the room dampening much like the daylight when a cloud unexpectedly moves to block the rays of the sun. He has no idea what it means, but for some reason, he’s determined to chase the cloud away.</p>
<p>“What did you say his name was again? Royce?”</p>
<p>As Potter turns to face him, mugs in hand, there’s an inscrutable look on his face.</p>
<p>“Royce Didier Bienchoix,” he says, not meeting Draco’s gaze as he heads for the table and sits down in his chair.</p>
<p>
  <em>The ‘desired king’? Sweet Salazar, why did I ever ask?</em>
</p>
<p>“Sounds like a prat,” Draco scoffs, mustering a teasing smirk as he pushes off from the doorframe to accompany Potter at the table. Potter looks up at him, amusement twinkling in those brilliant emerald eyes.</p>
<p>“Says the prattiest prat in town…”</p>
<p>“Fuck you,” Draco mutters as he sinks down in his chair across from Potter, accepting the mug that’s being nudged towards him.</p>
<p>“Oh, come on, Draco” Potter laughs, “Actually, you and he have quite a lot in common. I’m pretty sure you two would get along splendidly together if you ever were to meet.”</p>
<p>“No, thank you.”</p>
<p>There’s a couple walking under the streetlamp across the street. They’re holding hands, laughing. They look happy. Not too surprising, maybe. It’s spring, after all, everyone’s supposed to be happy.</p>
<p>“Hey, cheer up, will you?” Potter says gently, tilting his head trying to bring Draco’s attention back from the window. “He’s actually a really nice guy, and if you had just come with me to that charity event a few weeks ago, you would’ve been able to see that for yourself.”</p>
<p>“That’s where you met?” Draco’s stomach drops. “At that gala?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. It was horribly boring, just as those things always are, and since I didn’t have you there to cheer me up, I had no choice but to socialise and try to survive the night without you. Thankfully, Fleur noticed my predicament and came to the rescue.”</p>
<p>Draco fights back a groan. Potter had been badgering him for weeks before that thing, trying to get Draco to come with him. Draco had stubbornly declined, certain nobody would want him there, and in the end, Potter had gone alone. Only to meet Mr Perfect, it seems.</p>
<p>Imagine, if Potter and Royce really hit it off, Draco could apparently even take some of the credit for it happening. An image flashes before his eyes, uninvited. An image of a wedding, with Draco as the best man, of course, holding a speech and making all attending guests laugh at the anecdote about his part in the two newlyweds coming together.</p>
<p>Draco takes a sip of his tea, swallowing down another lump forming in his throat. The tea is perfect, of course. Potter knows exactly how he likes it. Not that it means anything, any two people who’ve been living together for more than two years would know how the other likes their tea. It’s inevitable.</p>
<p>Draco casts a furtive glance over the rim of his mug, only to find Harry looking straight at him. His bright green eyes are dancing, and that dopey smile is back, curving his rosy lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes. He looks absolutely smitten, and since Draco apparently is a masochist, he can’t stop the words from escaping his mouth.</p>
<p>“What’s with that silly smile? Don’t tell me you’re in love or something?”</p>
<p>Potter chokes on his tea and Draco watches a blush creep up the man’s cheeks as he regains his composure and clears his throat.</p>
<p>“What if I am?” he says levelly. His voice is deep and husky, sending shivers down Draco’s spine, and Draco finds himself unable to look away from his intense eyes. “What if I told you I might have found ‘the one’?”</p>
<p>Thankfully, Draco’s already swallowed his tea before his breath hitches at Potter’s words. “Y-you have?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, sweet Salazar… This isn’t happening. This isn’t happ—</em>
</p>
<p><em>“</em>I’m starting to think so, yes.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck. Fuck, it’s happening…</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Hold yourself together, Draco. For fuck’s sake!</em>
</p>
<p>“Don’t tell me… Pure-blood aristocrat, sexy speaking French, impeccable fashion sense?”</p>
<p>Condescending sarcasm might not be what a good friend should offer a mate telling them they’re in love, but what else can he do? It’s the only way Draco knows how to survive.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Potter says, and fuck if that soppy smile isn’t going to be the cause of Draco’s death. “And he’s intelligent, too. And witty. And he has a wicked sense of humour.”</p>
<p>Draco narrows his eyes. “That’s what people say about people who aren’t physically attractive, right?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Thank Merlin. Hopefully, this bloke is a troll.</em>
</p>
<p>“No, but he is!” Harry’s voice rings out in the otherwise silent kitchen, and it must’ve been louder than he intended for his eyes widen in surprise. Draco can only watch in agony as another adorable blush spreads over Potter’s cheeks.</p>
<p>“He is,” he repeats, calmer now, but no less intense than before. “He’s bloody gorgeous actually. Mesmerising eyes, a smile that sets the whole world alight… And his hair…” The groan escaping Potter’s throat is positively feral. “Oh Merlin, Draco, what I wouldn’t do for a chance to comb my fingers through that perf—”</p>
<p>“Let me guess,” Draco cuts him off. He doesn’t need to hear another syllable about this fucking bloke’s allegedly fucking perfect hair. “Flawless body? Tall and slender?”</p>
<p>Potter frowns. “Well, yeah, I—”</p>
<p>“And blond, right?”</p>
<p>“Y-yes… I… How…” Potter stutters, looking more and more confused by the second.</p>
<p>Draco doesn’t care. Draco’s had enough. Draco can’t take another word of this fucked up conversation or his heart will shatter in a million pieces — if it hasn’t already…</p>
<p>“I don’t want to hear it,” he growls, sending the chair flying to land on the floor behind him as he rises from his seat. His renowned Malfoy poise has long since left him and he’s painfully aware his dignity is currently scurrying after it like the scared little coward it is. He can’t stay a minute longer or he’ll break down. Crying. And Malfoys don’t cry. Draco doesn’t cry. He can’t…</p>
<p>“I’m going out,” he spits, already halfway on his way to the front door without even remembering leaving the table. “Don’t wait up.”</p>
<p>The cool evening air greets him like an old friend, caressing his heated cheeks and drying his alarmingly wet eyes. He takes a deep breath, gulping in the taste of relief, willing his heart to slow down.</p>
<p>“Draco, wait…”</p>
<p>Draco slams the door shut behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Rewind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>REWIND</strong>
</p>
<p>(v.) <em>To make a recording go back to an earlier time.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Two and a half hours earlier</p>
<hr/>
<p>There’s nothing wrong with Le Caprice, certainly not. The decor is sleek, if a little impersonal, the clientele is refined and proper, and the staff are indeed very welcoming and service-minded. It’s not the kind of place Harry would’ve chosen if it had been up to him, but he really doesn’t mind it. Especially not since his date seems to be enjoying it so much.</p>
<p>Harry sneaks a glance at Royce from behind his menu, catching the man smiling as he scans the room without noticing Harry watching him. He’s rather cute when he smiles, Harry concedes, with those dimples showing and the mirth glittering in those warm eyes of his.</p>
<p>Though Harry had been a little reluctant to leave his flatmate this evening — Draco had been acting quite strange, after all — as soon as he set eyes on Royce outside the restaurant where they were supposed to meet, the gnawing worry had obediently made room for an excited swarm of fluttery butterflies.</p>
<p>Before Harry’s caught watching, he turns his focus back to the menu in his hands, reading through the various dishes on offer without managing to come to a decision. It’s not that he can’t find anything he’d like, it’s just… so hard to choose when it comes to posh stuff like this. Give him an assortment of traditional British food — hearty Sunday roast, bangers and mash, fish and chips, or shepherd’s pie — and Harry would know what he wanted in a heartbeat. But how’s he supposed to know if he’d rather have <em>hispi cabbage with calçot onions</em> or <em>Pastis-flambéed gambas with pommes allumettes</em>? And what the hell is <em>ponzu dressing</em>?</p>
<p><em>Draco would know,</em> Harry’s mind helpfully points out. As if Harry didn't already know that. For a man so totally useless in the kitchen, Draco sure knows a lot about food and if he were here, he’d be able to help Harry translate this gibberish into proper English. And, yeah, he’d love everything on this menu. Or, at least <em>nearly</em> everything; Harry knows he’d never even contemplate their supposedly renowned <em>Steak Tartare</em>. Harry smiles to himself as he imagines Draco scrunching up his nose at the mere idea of eating raw meat. ‘<em>Don’t be daft, Potter</em>,’ he’d say, ‘<em>for Salazar’s sake, we’re not uncivilised animals</em>.’</p>
<p>Not that Harry doesn’t share his opinion — just the thought about it… the redness of the meat, and the chewiness, just… <em>ewww</em> — but he’d happily pretend to disagree with the man for a chance to rile him up and draw out that familiar affronted scowl, the one that once made Harry’s blood boil but now merely makes it rush with excitement.</p>
<p>“<em>Bonsoir messieurs</em>.”</p>
<p>Harry blinks and looks up to see a waitress suddenly standing next to the table. In the buzzy atmosphere, Harry hasn’t noticed her approaching, and the confusion must be clear in his face because she smiles at him, a genuine, warm smile.</p>
<p>“Welcome to Le Caprice. I’m Summer and I’ll be your waitress this evening.” They both greet her as she produces a bottle of still water and pours its content into their water glasses. “Have you found anything you like? Can I interest you in tonight’s specials?”</p>
<p>Royce looks to Harry who shrugs his assent to the unspoken question. Rosy lips curve into an amused smile before Royce’s gaze turns back to the waitress. “By all means.”</p>
<p>As the woman starts talking, Harry quickly zones out, returning his attention to the menu in his hands. He has enough alternatives to choose from as it is, he doesn’t need even more to jumble up his already jittery mind.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hmm, maybe salmon? Or, the veal — mmm — with crisp potato terrine, chanterelles, and—</em>
</p>
<p>“Harry?”</p>
<p>“Huh?” Harry looks up to find Royce smiling fondly at him. Apparently, this is not Royce’s first attempt to gain his attention and the realisation sends a wave of heat to Harry’s cheeks.</p>
<p>“Have you decided what you want?”</p>
<p>“Er, yeah, sort of…” Harry stammers before turning to Summer. “I think I’ll have the veal…” <em>but</em>…</p>
<p>“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Royce says, “I was choosing between that and the <em>bœuf bourguignon</em> myself and I’m still not sure I’ve made the right choice.” Royce’s chuckle is charming, deep and rich — much like Draco’s, actually, but with a somewhat smoother lilt to it. The sound of it causes Harry’s butterflies to flutter even more than before.</p>
<p>“<em>D’accord, Monsieur,</em>” Summer smiles, “veal it is. And for <em>entrée</em>?”</p>
<p>Harry clears his throat and tears his gaze from the man across the table to consult the menu again. “I was thinking maybe seafood of some sort, but I haven’t really been able to decide yet. Is there anything in particular you’d recommend?”</p>
<p>“Well, if you’re considering seafood you’ll just have to try the scallops, Sir. The way Armand prepares them… you just can’t find better scallops in this town.”</p>
<p>Harry’s never been all that fond of scallops. He hadn’t even managed to get himself to try them until about a year and a half ago when Draco had already been pestering him for months. It’s mostly the texture that’s been putting him off — those spongy colourless things should hardly be able to be classified as food — but Draco loves them beyond measure, and he always tells Harry he should try them ‘for real’ sometime, preferably when in a restaurant that knows how to prepare them right, so…</p>
<p>“All right, if you say so,” Harry smiles, placing the menu in Summer’s outstretched hand and winking. “But if I don’t like them I’ll be holding you accountable.”</p>
<p>“That’s quite all right,” Summer laughs, “If you don’t, I’ll find a way to make up for it.”</p>
<p>“Perfect,” Harry grins.</p>
<p>“Brilliant.” Royce’s voice is cheerful and his smile is lovely, only maybe a little… Well, it’s hard to tell really, since Harry’s yet to spend more than half an hour with the man, but—</p>
<p>“And to drink?”</p>
<p>Harry sheds the thought and looks to Royce. He’s quite sure his usual beer or fizzy drink order wouldn’t seem fitting tonight, and when it comes to wine, there’s nothing much he can contribute to the conversation. He knows there are reds and whites and rosés. He knows they’re sometimes bubbly and that they’re made from various kinds of grapes with fancy-sounding names, but that’s about it. Whenever he’s persuaded to have a glass of wine there’s always someone else, someone who knows what he’d like — usually Draco — who orders for him.</p>
<p>“Red okay?” Royce asks, waiting for Harry’s affirmative nod before perusing the wine menu. “How about a bottle of… hmm… yes,” Royce beams, turning back to the waitress. “A bottle of <em>Châteauneuf du Pape</em>, please. The 1990 vintage, if you have it.”</p>
<p>“Of course. Good choice.” Summer smiles, accepting the wine menu together with Royce’s ‘<em>Merci, mademoiselle</em>’, before disappearing in the general direction of the kitchen.</p>
<p>Being relieved of the menu causes a momentary bout of anxiety as Harry doesn’t really know what to do with his fidgety hands. Thankfully, however, the water glass obediently comes to the rescue, offering Harry not only something to hold on to, but also something with which to occupy his mouth for a while as he ponders what to say next. As it turns out, Royce beats him to it.</p>
<p>“So, Harry, what do you do for a living? Fleur never said.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m not really sure she knows, so…” Harry says, pondering for a brief moment how to go on. The whole idea of dating a wizard was for Harry to be able to be himself for once, to not have to lie about who he really is. And Royce does seem to be a really nice bloke, surely he’d understand and keep quiet about it if Harry asked him to?</p>
<p>At the same time, even if it’s not a secret or anything, it’s just that… the fewer who know, the lesser the risk of the press finding out. And Harry doesn’t even want to think about what would happen if they <em>did</em> find out. Chaos and mayhem, probably. Still, Harry’s itching to find a way to erase that confused frown furrowing Royce’s neat eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Okay, here’s the thing… Not many people in the wizarding world know much about my life these days, and I kind of like it that way. It allows me to have a normal life in a way I never would’ve had otherwise. You know, I still can’t move in the wizarding areas without getting noticed and stirring up a fuss. And whenever I enter Diagon Alley, my errands — however mundane — always seem sensational enough to hit the front-page the next day.”</p>
<p>“It’s all right, Harry. Don’t you worry about it,” Royce says with a dismissive shake of his head. “I remember how they swarmed around you at the gala and I totally get not wanting to have them disturbing your everyday life like that. I know we just met and it’s totally fine if you don’t want to tell me.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Harry says with a wry smile. “I probably will at some point, but I appreciate your understanding.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Wait… Did I just imply we should keep on dating? After not even an hour in his company? Oh, good Godric…</em>
</p>
<p>They probably will, though, won’t they? He’s really nice, and just what Harry needs — someone who understands and respects his reasons for drawing away. Someone who doesn’t judge him for his simple mundane Muggle life.</p>
<p>Harry knows most witches and wizards would be appalled if they were ever to find out about his Muggle coffee shop. For all they know, the famous Harry Potter is just a rich enigmatic recluse, hiding away from prying eyes somewhere unreachable and only coming out from his mysterious hermitage every once in a while on very special occasions. And even if there might be some truth to the hiding-away-from-prying-eyes part, the rest is just plain nonsense, conjured up by wild speculation and groundless rumours throughout the years.</p>
<p>He doesn’t even mind the ‘eccentric’ label he’s been given. On the contrary, the misconception suits him just fine, and there’s absolutely no reason for him to set the record straight anytime soon. Not when it allows for him to live a life in relative peace, blending in almost seamlessly in the middle of Muggle London without fear of Rita Skeeter and her peers ever seeking him out.</p>
<p>After everything, Harry is rich enough to never need a job if he didn’t want to work. He doubts he’d ever be content doing nothing, though. He’s much too restless for that. Also, there’s the small detail of his landlord requiring credentials from an employer and proof of a steady income to qualify as a tenant. Harry’s quite sure that, even if his vault is still holding more gold than he’d ever be able to spend in a lifetime, a bank statement from Gringotts wouldn’t have gone over all that well.</p>
<p>So he took this job, just for something to do. But as it turned out, going in to work each day, brewing coffee, wiping tables, and chatting with customers feels like a brilliant satisfactory ‘fuck you’ to all the expectations that once used to weigh upon his shoulders and rule every aspect of his life. Some people might find it menial but Harry loves it, no matter what anyone thinks.</p>
<p>Royce starts talking about his venture capital investments and how they’ve landed him here on the British Isles. Harry’s never understood the thrill of stocks and trading and all that — it’s too abstract to catch his interest and too impersonal to catch his heart — yet, as Royce speaks about it as passionately as he does, Harry finds himself captivated by the man’s obvious love for his profession.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s a good thing Royce is finally interrupted by the Sommelier, or he might have gone on about his work for the rest of the evening. He reigns himself in, though, once the Sommelier appears to serve their wine, tasting it with the same cute, contemplative look on his face as Draco always gets in the same situation. It’s so alike it’s uncanny, and Harry has to bite his tongue to hold back the amusement bubbling up inside him at the sight. Surely, Royce wouldn’t appreciate him bursting into a fit of giggles right there in the middle of the fancy restaurant. Draco never does.</p>
<p>Summer returns not long after, bringing their entrées. Harry’s scallops look just as off-putting as he’d imagined, lying surrounded by a sea of seared butter in the middle of the oversized royal blue plate. He has half a mind to ask Summer to take them back, to just say he’s changed his mind, but his Gryffindor stubbornness prevails — as it always does — and instead, he offers her a polite smile.</p>
<p>It’s not that he cares what she’d think of him, or not even what Royce would think. The unwillingness to embarrass Royce, however — which he most certainly would, had he sent back the dish — is what’s holding him back. That, and the scolding his flatmate would undoubtedly give him if he ever found out what Harry had done.</p>
<p>Steeling himself with the notion of how much Draco loves these little buggers, Harry cuts himself a piece and thinks about how his flatmate always argues their unrivalled excellence. Despite several attempts, he still has to convince Harry about it, but the scallops Harry’s been served turn out to be — quite all right, actually.</p>
<p>“<em>Ahhh… Foutu Flamel.</em>”</p>
<p>Royce’s moan borders on erotic. Harry looks up to find his date’s face transformed into a state of pure bliss and he briefly wonders if that’s what the man looks like when he orgasms too.</p>
<p>“You’ve<em> got</em> to try this,” Royce says as his eyes open once more. “It’s so good, you’ll love it!” He looks so excited, like a child on Christmas morning, and Harry can’t deny him as Royce holds out his fork over the table. His mouth is already halfway towards the rosy bit of food, his lips already parted to accept the offering, when Harry glances down and realises what’s on Royce’s plate.</p>
<p><em>Steak Tartare</em>.</p>
<p><em>Shit. That’s what you get for not paying attention</em>, Harry thinks as he quickly swallows the raw meat and washes it down with a hearty sip of wine. <em>Can’t wait to hear what Draco will have to say when I tell him about this.</em></p>
<p>“Thank you,” he manages, a little unsure if sharing food like this is something people usually do on a first date. He doubts it, but he gestures to his own plate anyway. “Do you want to—”</p>
<p>“No, thanks,” Royce chuckles, shaking his head. “Can’t stand those rubbery pillows no matter how much butter they’re bathing in.”</p>
<p>Harry’s about to laugh with him, telling him he once used to say the same, but the laugh gets stuck in his throat as he notices a swell of defensiveness expanding his chest. Irrational as it may seem, it’s almost as if Royce hadn’t just insulted his food, but Harry himself — or rather, Harry’s absent friend, who happens to love perfectly prepared scallops.</p>
<p>So, instead of voicing his own scepticism, Harry shrugs and silently takes another bite of his entrée, for the first time honestly trying to taste what Draco always raves about. <em>Pure deliciousness</em>, he’d said last time, <em>buttery goodness that simply melts in your mouth</em>. Harry can almost feel it as he works his way through his serving, determined to savour it as much as possible.</p>
<p>Despite the differences in their taste in food, Royce Didier Bienchoix is by all means and purposes a fairly decent bloke. Granted, Harry’s only met him once before, at that charity event a few weeks ago, but he’s never had any reason not to trust Fleur’s judgement in the past. Especially not since Royce seems to be just the kind of date Harry’s always hoped for; someone who’s kind and sweet, someone who’s considerate regarding his unwanted fame and all it entails, and someone who he could be himself with without breaking the Statute of Secrecy.</p>
<p>Aside from the odd occasion once every few months, Harry seldom ventures into the wizarding community these days. He’s never been a fan of the spotlight, and he’s always felt uncomfortable with the celebrity status his unchosen past has forced upon him. If it weren’t for the charity hooplas he’d probably stay away forever. But he wants to support them, and he knows how much his attendance at those events means to the organisations hosting them. Doesn’t mean he likes to go, though.</p>
<p>Harry casts a furtive glance across the table as he takes another sip of what he assumes is ridiculously expensive wine. Royce’s presence at that last one had certainly been the highlight of the night. To think, if he’d been able to persuade Draco to come with him, if Draco had been by his side, Harry probably wouldn’t have allowed himself to flirt with Royce at all. If Draco hadn’t been stubborn enough to refuse his pleading, Harry probably wouldn’t be sitting here in Le Caprice right now.</p>
<p>He should probably bring Draco here someday, though, if only so he could have his own taste of these — admittedly, quite tasty — scallops. He’d love it. Not only the scallops, nor the wine, but the fancy white linen napkins, the tiny complimentary appetisers, and the talented pianist over there in the corner… All of it.</p>
<p>Well, nearly all of it. Harry’s quite sure he’d complain about the buzz in the air. And when he did, Harry would just smile at him, call him a grumpy old man and chuckle in amusement at his flatmate’s annoyed scowl. There’s nothing quite like teasing Draco, not since the harshness of their youth finally faded away to give room for friendly banter and the occasional taunting jab. Thing is, though, even if he’d tease Draco about it, Harry must agree — if not to Draco’s face — that he’d be right; the atmosphere in here is rather lively indeed.</p>
<p>“So, how do you know Fleur?” Harry asks once their plates have been taken away and their glasses refilled.</p>
<p>“Well, we’ve known each other since forever. Our parents socialised quite a lot, especially since my older brother was the same age as her, and according to <em>Maman</em>, as soon as I had learnt to walk, I apparently insisted on harassing the two of them any chance I got.” Royce’s chuckle is warm and lovely. “I remember once, one summer — I cannot have been more than four, maybe five — anyway, we were visiting their <em>maison d’été</em> and my brother, Thiery, thought it’d be fun to…”</p>
<p>Harry nods and hums in all the right places as Royce speaks about his siblings and their childhood in their <em>château</em>, about some pet he had that… got sick, Harry’s almost sure, and something about a… a boat and a… frog, maybe…? It’s hard to say, really. Not that Harry’s not interested — he is, very much so — it’s just that his mind seems somewhat clouded at the moment, be it from the surrounding chatter, from his jittery first-date nerves, or just that general absent-mindedness that tends to kick in after a taxing workweek. Thankfully, Royce doesn’t seem to notice.</p>
<p>Through the fog, thoughts about Draco’s unusual behaviour earlier keep drifting to the surface, and no matter how hard Harry tries to quell them and reassure himself his flatmate’s perfectly all right, the image of Draco there at their kitchen table keeps flashing before his inner eye. As Royce talks, Harry catches himself replaying his conversation with Draco, trying to figure out what’d happened — if it’d somehow been something he’d said or done that could’ve caused the strange reaction — and while they wait for Summer to show up with their main courses, Harry’s concern for his flatmate’s well-being only grows stronger by the minute.</p>
<p>“As much as I’m fascinated by all things Muggle, I must admit I’m not a big fan of their clothes,” Royce says, fiddling with the knot of his plum-coloured silk tie. Harry frowns, apparently looking like he’s about to argue since the man quickly adds, “You look gorgeous in them, though. I swear, that shade of green is absolutely perfect on you. It brings out the brilliance of your remarkable eyes in a—”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Harry squirms, eager to cut him off before it gets too embarrassing, “you look good, too.”</p>
<p>He’s never been that good at receiving compliments, especially the fawning ones and the ones he can’t, in good conscience, take credit for. Draco picked out this outfit for him, not only tonight but before too, in that fancy shop Draco tends to drag him to on occasion. Hell, Draco even bought him this emerald tie Royce is currently praising.</p>
<p>“Gentlemen?”</p>
<p><em>Thank Merlin</em>.</p>
<p>Summer is back, standing next to their table with two plates and a happy smile. Harry wasn’t even aware he’d been leaning in before they both draw back to make room for her to serve them their main courses. Harry’s veal steak looks and smells delicious where it lies perfectly arranged next to golden chanterelles, perfect inch-sized crispy cubes of potato terrine, and… asparagus. Harry forces back the urge to cringe at the sight of the green stalks and makes sure to thank Summer politely as she places a mini sauce jug next to his meal.</p>
<p>Fuck. He’d planned to request that the chef leave them out upon ordering, but he’d totally forgotten. He’d been distracted by something, most likely someone, and now there’s offensive greenery on his plate and nothing to be done about it.</p>
<p>If Draco were here, he’d take pity on his poor asparagus, Harry realises. He wouldn’t even say anything about it, just push their plates together and relieve Harry of his slimy veg. Usually, Harry gets something else in exchange, too. Like those buttered sautéed carrots Draco had surreptitiously levitated onto his plate the last time they were in that secluded restaurant in Bloomsbury. Those had been absolutely delicious.</p>
<p>Trying his best to ignore the greens, Harry cuts a piece of his meat and lets it melt against his palate together with the rich wine sauce. It tastes good, <em>really</em> good, and there’s no way Royce could have known how much his next words were going to affect Harry’s appetite.</p>
<p>“So,” he says as he lays down his cutlery to have a sip of wine, “Fleur said you grew up among Muggles.” </p>
<p>Harry’s heart sinks like a stone. If there’s one thing he doesn’t want to talk about on a pleasant first date, it’s his crappy childhood. However, he’s pleasantly surprised as Royce follows it up with, “I’ve always been fascinated by them, by all they’re able to accomplish without magic. And they’re so curious and innovative. I mean, how can anyone even come up with the idea of how to syphon the force of a stream, transport it through a tube for miles and then use it to empower a lamp? Mind-boggling, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Royce really looks mind-boggled by the wonders of electricity, and Harry can’t help grinning at the excited man before him. “Yeah, they’ve come up with some cool stuff, all right.”</p>
<p>“They really have. It’s a shame the wizarding society is so reluctant to learn from them. Imagine what we could do if we were able to combine our magic with their — what’s that word again?” Royce frowns. “Techology?”</p>
<p>“Almost,” Harry smiles, “Tech-n-ology. Yeah, I figure it probably has to do with the innate human fear of the unknown. Muggle science and technology is not easy to understand, not even for most Muggles. And believe me, it’s even harder to explain.”</p>
<p>After the war, most pure-bloods he knows had all been adorably inquisitive about the unknown world they’d never had much connection to growing up: Ron and his siblings, Luna, Neville — even Draco. Actually, now he comes to think of it, Draco in particular. The image of him frowning in all seriousness as Harry first showed him a mobile phone — <em>So, you’re saying it’s like a Floo? Like a mobile Floo you can carry in your pocket? How utterly brilliant. Can you use it for travel too? No? Well, that’s a shame, isn’t it?</em> — will be etched to Harry’s memory forever.</p>
<p>His amused smile falters in a heartbeat as Royce asks, “Did you always know you were a wizard?”</p>
<p>Harry swallows. “No,” he says soberly, shaking his head. “I knew I was somewhat different” — or as the Dursleys used to put it, <em>a freak</em> — “but no one ever told me how or why. I didn’t know until I got my letter from Hogwarts at age eleven.”</p>
<p>Taking a sip of his wine, Harry notices Royce fiddling with the napkin in his lap. He’s clearly uneasy from the realisation he must’ve said something wrong, and Harry feels obliged to offer up something — anything — to lighten the mood.</p>
<p>“Entering the wizarding world was the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me.” Harry smiles, thinking back to that first day when Hagrid had taken him to Diagon Alley. “Discovering this whole new world, hidden in the middle of the world I already knew, filled with wonders and extraordinary phenomena beyond your wildest dreams. To not only find out it existed, but to learn that I was invited to be a part of it all… I couldn’t wait to board that train and go to that magical school and become a wizard myself.”</p>
<p>Harry’s words have brought back that cute smile to Royce’s lips. “Well, from what I’ve heard, you’re a very powerful wizard so I guess it all came naturally once you started studying?”</p>
<p>Harry can’t help but chuckle. “No, most definitely not. The only innate talent I had was flying. My first ever lesson ended with me being drafted for the House Quidditch team.”</p>
<p>“Wow!” Royce sapphire blue eyes are widened in surprise. “At age eleven? That’s amazing. What position?”</p>
<p>“Seeker,” Harry smirks, suddenly itching to go for a fly. He hasn’t been on a broom for months, not since that time he and Draco went flying in the middle of the night, ending up lost and freezing somewhere in the middle of nowhere. It’s hard to keep track of your surroundings when trying not to lose sight of an evasive snitch. Especially when you have a rival for that snitch to keep an eye on too. Maybe Royce could be persuaded to come flying sometime? “Do you ever play?”</p>
<p>“Oh no, I would never,” Royce chuckles. “I was a terrible flyer, and I’m not competitive in the least. Well, at least not when it comes to such physical things as athletics or sports. I can watch it, all right, but I save my competitiveness for my work.”</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>Okay, so no Seekers’ games with Royce anytime soon, then.</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t know why that — honestly quite insignificant — notion suddenly seems so important, or why that would make him feel so disappointed when everything else up till now has felt so promising.</p>
<p>He returns to his food as Royce sips on his wine, holding the glass by the stem with his pinkie extended much the same way Draco always does. They’re so alike, and yet so different. Their impeccable manner, their straight posture, their posh accents — their resemblance, no doubt derived from their similar pure-blood upbringings, is clear for anyone to see.</p>
<p>But while Royce seems to be kind and sweet and humble and altogether pleasant, Draco is anything but. He’s stubborn and frustrating, exasperating and impossible even at the best of times. Their constant rivalry growing up had been a true pain in the arse, but — as Hermione once pointed out — it had also motivated Harry to become better, stronger, faster, not least over the Quidditch pitch.</p>
<p>Draco has always challenged him, in every way possible, and now Harry’s gotten to know him and learn how to handle his inscrutable quirks and vulnerable ego, he must admit there have been times when he’s caught himself thinking of Draco as cute or charming. Even adorable…</p>
<p>Like the other morning, when he’d found a pre-caffeine Draco at the kitchen table in his pyjamas looking sleep ridden and positively gorgeous, with rosy pillow creases on his pale cheek and—</p>
<p>“Earth to Harry?”</p>
<p>Harry blinks, blushing as he returns to the present to find Royce looking at him questioningly.</p>
<p>“Hi there,” he says with an amused smile. “Judging by your soppy smile, I take it you must’ve been somewhere delightful. What’s on your mind?”</p>
<p><em>Draco</em>.</p>
<p><em>Fuck</em>.</p>
<p>Harry can’t breathe. He doesn’t know how. His heart is hammering so hard it hurts and his throat is positively parched.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh Godric…</em>
</p>
<p>His hand trembles as he reaches for his water, almost missing his mouth as he lifts it to his lips to gulp down the last of its content. Those pleasant fluttery butterflies from before have made room for an intense, pulsing pit of yearning, sending blood rushing through his veins so fast it’s making him dizzy, pumping adrenalin at rates he hasn’t experienced since the war.</p>
<p>“M-my flatmate.” <em>Draco.</em></p>
<p>Harry’s voice comes out shaky. Breathless.</p>
<p>“What about him?” Harry makes an effort to focus on the man across the table. His date. Royce. Wonderful Royce. Who is so much like Draco in so many ways, and— <em>Merlin, how could I ever not see it?</em> His eyes are sapphire blue, and his hair is wavy and golden brown, but apart from that… The smile, the twinkle in his eyes, even his lovely warm chuckle…</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh shit.</em>
</p>
<p>Royce is not smiling right now, though, Harry notices. He looks concerned for some reason, worried even. And he seems to be waiting for something… Yeah, didn’t he ask something? Harry replays the last words in his mind.</p>
<p>“I think I—”</p>
<p>Harry clears his throat and wishes there was more water in his glass, all recollection of ever being able to cast a wandless, wordless Aguamenti momentarily forgotten.</p>
<p>“I-I think I love him.”</p>
<p>Royce looks surprised. Harry can hardly blame him, he’s just as surprised himself by the words coming out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, I have to…”</p>
<p>He has no idea what he has to do. He just knows he has to do something — anything.</p>
<p>
  <em>I love Draco.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh dear Merlin… I love Draco.</em>
</p>
<p>Draco… who is home… alone… in their flat… clearly not okay despite what he said before…</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p>“I have to go, I— I’m so, so sorry. I…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Break</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>BREAK</strong>
</p>
<p> (n.) <em>The transitional passage in which a soloist plays unaccompanied.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Present time</p>
<hr/>
<p>Harry stares at their front door, dumbfounded. The photo frames hanging on the hallway wall rattle from it slamming shut, but all Harry can hear is the echo of Draco’s voice.</p>
<p><em>‘Don’t wait up’</em>.</p>
<p>Not even half an hour ago, Harry had been walking — <em>not</em> skipping, <em>walking</em> — down the street, full to bursting with jittery excitement and nervous anticipation. As he’d left the restaurant, it had taken him all his will-power to reign in his inner lion  — if it’d been up to that reckless beast, he would’ve most likely just Apparated straight into their flat and pounced on his prey the first chance he got. Instead, for once, he’d slowed down long enough to listen to that distant hiss coming from the sly creature coiled up in the back of his mind, telling him to cool down, to collect himself, to do this right.</p>
<p>So, he’d Apparated to the alley next to Costa instead, figuring a ten-block walk home in the crisp evening air would allow him some time to sort out his thoughts and come up with a passable plan.</p>
<p>Apparently, he’d been wrong.</p>
<p>Or rather, he <em>did</em> have a passable plan once he got home — it just happened to go out the window the moment Draco looked at him over the rim of his mug, his silver-grey eyes sparkling and his impossibly long eyelashes fluttering from the hot air rising from his tea. Draco’s amused smirk had effectively evaporated any trace of rational thinking Harry still possessed, and from that moment on, nothing had gone the way he’d planned it.</p>
<p>If it had, they’d most likely be kissing each other breathless right about now, desperately clinging to each other as they ripped at each other’s clothes, stumbling through the flat in search of the first suitable flat surface to tumble down upon.</p>
<p>Instead, Harry is standing in the hallway of their empty flat, alone, staring at the front door, wondering what just happened.</p>
<p>He blinks, forcing himself back to the present with a determined headshake. Of all possible scenarios he’d envisioned on his way home — dismissal, ridicule, disbelief, shock, rejection… even awe — Draco lashing out in anger at Harry’s news wasn’t even close to any of them. Granted, Draco’s emotional life has always been somewhat of an enigma, and his reactions usually all but impossible to predict, but after these last few years, Harry had actually thought he’d learnt to read him quite well. That is, until today.</p>
<p>The lion wants to go after him, wants to chase him down and sort this out before Draco has time to mull it over too much. As the Slytherin he is, Draco has a tendency to always overthink everything to the verge of ridiculousness, and Harry’s quite sure every minute of Draco analysing this will only drive them further apart. And as much as Harry loves him — <em>Merlin, he loves him</em> — he would rather they stayed friends than Harry losing him altogether.</p>
<p>As much as he wants to run out that door, though, Harry knows he needs to take a breather and reassess the situation. He needs to figure out the cause of Draco’s unexpected reaction before he confronts him again, or he won’t stand a chance against that inscrutable mind of his.</p>
<p>Harry lets out a deep sigh and tears his eyes from the door, turning back into the flat. A thoughtless glance into the kitchen sends his stomach churning. It’s as if those still half-full mugs on the table are mocking him, as if that overturned chair is taunting him, calling him out for being too oblivious to predict the outcome of his confession. Harry pulls at his tie, absentmindedly loosening the knot and popping the topmost buttons open as he heads for his bedroom. He’s much too overdressed for this, and even if he has no desire to revisit his room considering the upended state he left it in earlier, he needs to get out of these posh clothes to be able to think prope—</p>
<p>
  <em>What the fuck?</em>
</p>
<p>Harry blinks. Even under Veritaserum Harry could swear his room has never been tidier. His clothes are all back where they belong, on their hangers in the wardrobe or neatly folded in perfect piles in their respective drawers. The clutter usually residing on his dresser, his desk, his bedside table, are sorted and organised to perfection, and his bed looks like it’s been made for the fucking queen to sleep in — not a single wrinkle in sight. His room is spotless.</p>
<p>Harry swallows down the uncomfortable lump forming in his throat. Why would Draco do this? Sure, he’d been irritated by seeing Harry’s room in disarray earlier, but why would he ever bother doing anything about it? Why not just close the door to the sight and let Harry deal with his own mess?</p>
<p>His attention is drawn to the soft bluish light coming from the far corner and he frowns as his eyes fall on its source. There, next to a neat pile of parchment on the desk, someone — Draco — has lit the lava lamp that hasn’t been on for Merlin knows how long. In the vaguely rocket-shaped vessel of dark blue liquid, a turquoise blob of wax moves gently, its undulations casting languorous shifting shadows on the wall. </p>
<p>Draco hates it, apparently finding it ‘an abhorrent piece of kitsch’, and Harry can’t stop the faint smile from curving his lips as he walks up to it and brushes his fingertips over its warm surface. He’d been wanting one for ages, ever since he first saw Dudley’s upon coming back to Little Whinging after third year. Years later, during one of his and Draco’s Sunday walks, he’d caught sight of one in the back of a thrift shop’s window display. It had reminded him about his teenage wish, but as it happened, he never got around to actually doing anything about it. Eventually, it had slipped his mind again, and by the time his birthday had come around, he’d forgotten all about it.</p>
<p>Draco hadn’t, though. He’d remembered. Harry hadn’t even recalled mentioning it to Draco, but Draco had remembered. Sometimes Harry wonders if Draco hangs on every word he says. Because he can be spooky like that, bringing up old conversations, reminding Harry of things they’ve talked about weeks or even months earlier.</p>
<p>If Harry didn’t know better, he’d be led to believe something like that would be an indication of care, or consideration, maybe even fondness. When it comes to Draco, though, it might just as well be another remnant of his inbred aristocratic upbringing, another part of his impeccable manners; to always be attentive to his surroundings, combined with some elaborate technique to memorise all that he perceives.</p>
<p>Harry blinks, finding his eyes burning from the notion of Draco having lit the ‘abhorrent kitsch’ for him, he turns his back to the lamp and heads for their shared bathroom, his planned clothes change completely forgotten. He just intends to freshen himself up, chasing the impending tears away with a splash of cold water on his face, and doesn’t realise his mistake until it’s already too late.</p>
<p>The heady scent of lemongrass and verbena — of <em>Draco — </em>meets him as soon as he opens the door, washing over him before he even enters the room. The air is still warm, the mirror still covered in mist; Draco must’ve taken a shower while he was gone, a long hot shower the likes he only ever takes when he’s upset and needs to regain his composure, the likes that make his hair glow golden and his signature porcelain skin flush intriguingly.</p>
<p>Harry does his best to ignore the images flashing before his inner eye, does what he came in here to do and dries his face and hands on his blue Arrows towel, the one he realises belatedly that Draco must’ve retrieved from his bedroom floor and hung up to dry on its designated hook.</p>
<p>He has no excuse for where he ends up next. Not even the fact that Draco has evidently been in his room to tidy it up earlier could ever serve as an acceptable reason for Harry to step over the threshold into Draco’s room now. Especially not after what just transpired between them. But his insides are raw and tender, and he’s craving any sense of closeness he can get, needing the illusion of Draco’s nearness to soothe his aching heart.</p>
<p>Walking into Draco’s room is like walking straight into a fluffy cloud, all soft whites, and matt silvers, and various shades of blue and grey. And not the cold steel greys either, but warm tones like dove, and pewter, and graphite. Harry stops as his socked feet sink into the rich luxurious carpet, remembering Draco’s passionate rant when he first had it fitted soon after moving in, fiercely insisting on a no-shoes policy for their entire flat.</p>
<p>Harry had argued against it, of course, not because he particularly minded the idea of leaving his shoes out in the hall, but because it was Draco proposing it. Draco had won that argument in the end, but they’d both had quite a lot of fun bickering before getting there.</p>
<p>And Harry can totally get why Draco insisted so strongly, considering the carpet being white and all. <em>‘Seashell, Potter, seashell. For Salazar’s sake, how hard can it be?’</em> Harry rolls his eyes at the memory, his gaze catching for a moment on the midnight blue ceiling, sprinkled with sparkling silver — Draco’s very own starry sky.</p>
<p>Sitting down on the edge of Draco’s bed, Harry barely resists the urge to fall back into the plush duvet. He hasn’t been in here since early November when Draco had caught that nasty flu and had been too weak to leave his bed for several days. Harry had taken time off work, even though Draco insisted he shouldn’t, and had then proceeded to feed him chicken soup and broth, help him totter back and forth to the bathroom, and bring him copious amounts of reading material whenever asked. Draco had, not surprisingly, been a right whiny wanker most of that week — he really hates feeling sick and incapable, of having to depend on someone other than himself — but there’d been pleasant moments too. Most of all, Harry had enjoyed the innumerable mugs of tea they’d shared in here that week, with Draco propped up against the headboard and Harry sitting cross-legged opposite him at the foot of the bed.</p>
<p>His reminiscing is interrupted as Harry’s eyes are drawn to the framed Muggle photograph residing on Draco’s bedside table; him and Draco together, smiling, by the counter in the coffee shop. It must be over a year ago now, if Harry remembers correctly, because he knows Melissa just started her third semester in Oxford after New Year’s.</p>
<p>That day had been Melissa’s last shift before leaving town, and all the regulars had turned up to send her off. Everyone had been in high spirits and Harry vaguely remembers himself at one point announcing cake for all on the house. Draco had chosen a generous piece of Devil’s food cake, of course — that man is such a sucker for chocolate, has always been — and once Harry had secured cake all around, Melissa had persuaded him and Draco to pose for this picture.</p>
<p>Draco looks ridiculous in it, with his mouth full of cake and a smudge of chocolate showing at the corner of his mouth. Harry had gotten it framed for Draco’s birthday as a joke. Never in a million years would he ever have guessed Draco would save it, not to mention keeping it anywhere visible.</p>
<p>Harry finds himself mesmerised by that smudge of chocolate now, staring at it for long moments, wishing he could lean in and lick it off. Absentmindedly, Harry reaches for Draco’s pillow instead, hugging it close to his chest and burying his face in its silky-smooth cotton cover. He takes a deep breath to inhale Draco’s familiar scent. It makes the yearning in the pit of his stomach clench violently, but at the same time, it also seems to soothe his restless mind. Draco’s pillow smells like home, like comfort and security, and Harry finds himself wondering if he’ll ever know how it feels to hold Draco close like this.</p>
<p>He’ll never forget the first time Draco walked into his coffee shop, looking all bewildered and terrified but trying his best not to let it show. At the time, Harry had been sure Draco was up to something, that the man had sought him out for some unknown reason, and that his peaceful anonymous life in the Muggle world would soon be coming to an abrupt end. As it turned out, however, Draco had in fact entered Harry’s coffee shop by chance that day, in need of something to calm his frazzled nerves.</p>
<p>What Harry hadn’t known at the time was that, only two hours earlier, Draco had entered the Muggle world for the first time in his life. On his own. Seeking refuge in a society that didn’t know his name or recognised his distinct features, searching for a way to hide from the attention much the same way Harry himself once had.</p>
<p>Harry still doesn’t know if it was fate or mere happenstance that brought Draco to the coffee shop that day. Thinking rationally, it was certainly just a coincidence, but there’ll always be a part of him insisting it must have been more. The way that first encounter had so abruptly altered both their lives for the better — there’s no way it had been just a fluke.</p>
<p>Harry had offered to help him navigate the Muggle world, and Draco had graciously let him. In exchange, Harry had gotten a new flatmate to fill up the depressing emptiness Ron had left behind when he’d moved out to live with Hermione. Harry had taught Draco how to buy groceries and where to go for the best takeaway dinners. He’d coached him as he applied for his first job, and later vouched for him when he was up for the one he currently has. He introduced him to the Muggle nightlife and showed him the best gay clubs Soho has to offer.</p>
<p>Two years later, Draco is now as urbane in the Muggle world as he ever was in wizarding society — and Harry’s had the privilege to be by his side every step of the way, watching him grow and evolve into a rather remarkable man. And, apparently, somewhere along the line, Harry has managed to fall head over heels for that man — his former school rival, his flatmate, his friend — without even knowing it.</p>
<p>Harry knows now, though. From the moment he came home and caught sight of the man tonight, he knew. One glimpse of platinum-blond hair, of silver-grey eyes — it was all it took to let his last remaining doubts go.</p>
<p>A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth as he remembers Draco standing there in front of the telly earlier, stumbling over his words and unconsciously fidgeting with the hem of his posh cashmere jumper. Even before the porn comment, Draco had sported the most adorable blush Harry’s ever seen. And Draco can deny it all he wants, it doesn’t matter, Harry still knows he’d been interrupting… <em>something</em>.</p>
<p>Spurred on by a sudden bout of curiosity, Harry fluffs the pillow he’s been holding in his arms and returns it to its proper place before standing and smoothing out the imprint of his arse from Draco’s slate grey duvet. As he leaves the room, a slight frown furrowing his brows, Harry ponders his flatmate’s earlier reaction.</p>
<p>Draco’s rarely angry these days. Petulant, yes. Snappy, most definitely. But not angry. In fact, leaving out their regular teasing banter, Harry can’t even remember the last time they had an actual heated argument. Draco can <em>appear</em> angry at times, of course, lashing out at the strangest of things, but Harry knows now that his anger is usually just a front to conceal other things, a facade Draco puts up when he’s feeling scared, or threatened, or emotional and vulnerab—</p>
<p>
  <em>What the…?</em>
</p>
<p>As Harry’s about to sit down in front of the telly, he’s <em>this</em> close to stepping into a big brownish puddle of goo. The sweet scent of chocolate and vanilla tips him off before he even notices the ice cream tub lurking halfway under the couch.</p>
<p>Too impatient to even consider taking care of it the Muggle way, Harry draws his wand from inside his shirt sleeve and spells the remnants of Draco’s indulgence away with a quick cleaning charm. Another sign of Draco’s uncharacteristic behaviour earlier; he’d never leave a tub of ice cream out in the open to melt a puddle on the floor. Especially not ‘the good stuff’, which Harry realises this is as he picks up the tub from the floor to set it on the coffee table. Draco only ever treats himself to ‘the good stuff’ when he’s really miserable.</p>
<p>
  <em>Why, Draco?</em>
</p>
<p>The dull ache in Harry’s chest intensifies at the thought of Draco suffering and it’s only as he slumps down on the couch he realises he already knew. He had noticed it, earlier in the kitchen; something being off with Draco’s eyes. It had been almost imperceptible — the swelling so slight, the red tinge so faint — but thinking back on it now, there’s no doubt about it. Draco had been crying.</p>
<p>Reaching for the remote, Harry has no idea what he’s expecting to show up on the telly. And it’s probably just as well because whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t this.</p>
<p>There, frozen mid-scene, are Aladdin and Jasmine, sitting close together on their flying carpet as it glides only inches above a tranquil water’s surface.</p>
<p>Harry’s breath hitches at the sight, hit by the memory of the first time they’d watched it together. Harry doesn’t remember how it all started, but for some inexplicable reason they’d jokingly started comparing the characters and story elements to their own lives, and soon he’d become Aladdin — the scruffy street rat, just as fake as a prince as Harry feels being a hero — and Ron and Hermione the monkey and the carpet. Draco had reluctantly agreed his life — brought up in the secure confinements of wizarding aristocracy — did ‘bear some vague resemblance’ to Jasmine’s, after which Harry had been quick to point out the similarities between Jafar and Voldemort — the evil sorcerer taking up residence in Jasmine’s/Draco’s home; Iago and Bellatrix — the sorcerer’s mad follower; and the sultan and Lucius — the unsuspecting head of the house naive enough to become enchanted by the sorcerer’s wicked words.</p>
<p>Just as with Voldemort and himself, Jafar had tried to get rid of Aladdin several times, and just as with them, Aladdin had vanquished Jafar in the end. They had argued for a while over the genie, but ultimately, they’d agreed on him being a personification of magic itself.</p>
<p>However, none of this nonsense is what’s important at the moment. None of it is what’s currently making Harry’s heart pound fiercely in his chest. What <em>does</em>, though, is the recollection of Draco’s words as they’d first watched this exact scene.</p>
<p><em>‘They’re us,’</em> he’d murmured softly. <em>‘I’ve finally escaped my confined life and now you’re showing me A Whole New Muggle World. Potter, that’s us.’</em></p>
<p>Harry’s head is spinning so fast it’s making him dizzy.</p>
<p>
  <em>Could it be…?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>No, I must be imagining it. Surely, he can’t…</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But what if…?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck!</em>
</p>
<p>“Fuck!”</p>
<p>In the blink of an eye, Harry’s on his feet and heading for the door. Draco is out there, somewhere, and Harry needs to find him. He’s already on the doorstep by the time he realises he should probably put on his shoes. He has a pretty good idea of where to find him, and even if he still has no clue of what to say when he does, he can’t wait to get there, can’t wait to sort this out, can’t wait to tell him… whatever it is he’s going to say.</p>
<p>It catches his eye as he straightens from tying his shoes, and he grabs it on his way out the door. Draco will need it. He’ll be freezing. He’s always freezing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Bridge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>BRIDGE</strong>
</p>
<p> (n.) <em>The transitional passage connecting sections of a composition.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>When he still lived at the Manor and found himself in need of some time alone, Draco always took refuge in his mother’s rose garden to sort out his thoughts and emotions. At Hogwarts, the closest he’d come to a spot with a similar sense of grounding serenity had been under the wide branches of that lonely gnarled tree by the lake. And now, living in London, it’s this place.</p>
<p>There’s nothing quite like Queen Mary’s Gardens in Regent’s Park, especially after closing time. It doesn’t even matter what season it is, really; even when not in bloom, the abundance of well-attended lawns and flowerbeds, neatly trimmed hedges, paths and fountains, and artificially constructed ponds and waterfall, usually have an ability to calm Draco’s nerves like no other place in town.</p>
<p>If he’d only remembered to bring his scarf, or at least his gloves…</p>
<p>Shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets, Draco resumes his walk down the winding path and curses under his breath. He’s already lost sensation in his toes, and he doesn’t even want to know the current shade of red on the tips of his ears.</p>
<p>The best remedy for his stiff fingers and aching cheeks would surely be a good old toasty warming charm, of course, but in the rush to escape the flat Draco, idiot that he is, forgot to bring his wand. It’s not the first time he’s made the same blunder either — even if he seriously hopes it’s the last — and to be honest, he’s not all that surprised he’s managed to leave it behind tonight, considering the circumstances.</p>
<p>Draco sighs, releasing an impressive cloud of warm steam into the chilly evening air. He misses his cosy room with its fluffy carpet, warm comfy bed, and sky full of stars, but he’s not nearly composed enough to head back home yet. Not sure if he ever will be again.</p>
<p>He knows Potter will be waiting for him when he gets back, stubbornly insisting on staying awake even after explicitly being told not to. He always does, like a silly teenage mum fretting about her kid every time they’re out after dark. Draco’s even taken to teasing him about it, calling ‘no need to worry, mum, I’m home now’ as he walks through the door. Potter, the insufferable twat that he is, always just laughs it off, saying ‘good to have you back, son, see you in the morning’ over his shoulder on his way to bed. Draco always feigns the befitting annoyance, of course, all the while secretly savouring Potter’s care and concern.</p>
<p>He’s not sure he’ll be able to face Potter coming home tonight, though. He doubts Potter will just laugh it off and head to bed this time, not without wanting to ‘talk about it’ first.</p>
<p>Draco doesn’t want to talk about it. What is there even to say?</p>
<p>The pace of his brisk strides falters and slows to a stop halfway across the bridge by the waterfall. During the daytime, this place is usually swarmed with visitors; locals and tourists from all over the world, fighting for the ultimate angle to photograph the water cascading down the terraced hillside. Now though, it’s pleasantly deserted and Draco sends a grateful thought to Alan, the gardener he got to know a while back who’s trusted him with the staff gate key now residing in Draco’s pocket.</p>
<p>Turning his back to the falls, Draco walks up to the opposite railing, leaning his forearms on the weathered wood and slumping his shoulders in an uncouth manner his father would never approve of. This spot has a beautiful view over the pond and its bronze eagle statue, but tonight it barely registers with Draco before his head drops heavily in defeat.</p>
<p>He’d thought he could do this; thought he could manage being Potter’s friend; thought he could survive sharing a flat with his teenage crush. It wasn’t even that far-fetched a plan. Surely, being so close to the man and noticing all his flaws and irritating habits should have helped him get over his futile feelings? Surely, he should eventually get so used to having the man around that this pathetic infatuation would fade and become less… bothersome, less… incapacitating?</p>
<p>But he’d been wrong.</p>
<p>Instead of abating, his problematic emotions have only become more severe ever since he moved in. All Potter’s quirks and foibles never did a thing to mute Draco’s yearning, rather they only made him grow fonder every day. The plan that he’d hoped would secure him a relaxed platonic friendship has back-fired so profoundly he’s no longer able to even look at the man without stirring that warm pool of heat in the pit of his stomach.</p>
<p>If he’s honest with himself, he knows he probably should have moved out a long time ago. In fact, he’s quite certain he’s been actively ignoring that specific piece of knowledge for a good while now, not ready to let go, not ready to imagine a home without Potter in it. Maybe this new turn of events will finally give him the kick up the arse that he seems to need to actually do it? Or… What if Potter’s the one to move out, leaving Draco alone in the flat to go live with Mr Bloody Perfect?</p>
<p><em>Fuck</em>.</p>
<p>Something cold and vicious clenches around his heart as the next thought strikes him: Mr Bloody Perfect is a wizard. Potter’s only dated Muggles before; Muggles who he hasn’t been able to take home to their flat without breaching the Statute of Secrecy due to the place being sprinkled with various magical objects that could easily expose them. Mr Bloody Perfect, on the other hand, is a wizard; a wizard Potter would be able to invite over for dinner, for cuddly movie nights in front of the telly, for bloody sleepovers.</p>
<p>And what’s Draco supposed to do then? Hole up in his room, surrounded by silencing charms? Merlin, he wouldn’t even dare exit his bedroom for a trip to the loo in the middle of the night for fear of seeing or hearing anything untoward.</p>
<p>No, he can’t do this anymore. He can’t live like this, letting himself get hurt like this over and over again. Even a pathetic pining martyr must surely have some kind of boundaries? Some dignity?</p>
<p>Draco’s cheeks, numb from the cool breeze, sting as hot tears start to trickle down his face. He surely must be running out of them soon, right? The tears? He can’t even remember the last time he shed them in these ridiculous quantities. During the war, probably. If ever. He hates it. He hates how weak it makes him feel, how vulnerable. It’s wet, it’s inconvenient, it makes him look horrible — it always does — and it’s starting to give him a headache.</p>
<p>Draco groans and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, attempting to quell the evidence of his fragile heart. He takes a deep ragged breath, another, and one more, letting the crisp air clear his weary mind. He can’t stay in the flat any longer, that much is clear. But where should he go? He’s never had a reason to go flat-hunting before, he doesn’t even know where to start. Maybe he could ask Mary? She mentioned something about her son recently moving into a new place in Kensington when they were shelving a new shipment of books at work the other week. Maybe she could help him with some advi—</p>
<p>“You’re such a bloody drama queen.”</p>
<p>Draco instantly tenses at the sound of Potter’s voice. He doesn’t need to turn around, his flatmate’s amused smirk and exasperated head-shake are audible enough from where he stands, even over the burbling waterfall.</p>
<p>“M’not,” Draco grumbles, wiping the last traces of tears away with the sleeve of his coat as discreetly as he can manage. <em>What the fuck is he doing here?</em></p>
<p>“Oh yes, Draco, you are,” Harry chuckles somewhere behind him. Draco does his best to ignore the warm shiver travelling down his spine. “It’s even right there in your name; DRA-co MA-lfoy — Dra-ma.”</p>
<p>“Ha-ha, very clever, Potter.”</p>
<p>Draco drops his head with a huffed sigh, incapable of fighting the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Potter’s sense of humour can be quite ridiculous at times, but in these last few years, Draco’s found that, sometimes, a ridiculous joke might just be exactly what you need. At least his eyes have stopped leaking and—</p>
<p>“Well, I thought so.”</p>
<p>Potter is suddenly right next to him, mirroring Draco’s stance placing his arms on the railing overlooking the pond. Draco startles as the man leans in and bumps shoulders with him, relaxed, friendly, teasingly, as if… Draco sends him an indignant glare from the corner of his eye, feeling his stomach flip at the sight of Potter looking straight ahead, seemingly ignoring him while grinning like a loon.</p>
<p>“So, you’ve found me and insulted me. Now, would you mind leaving me alone?”</p>
<p>Potter’s expression sobers as he turns his head to meet Draco’s gaze, bright green eyes warm and fierce.</p>
<p>“Yes, I would, actually.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>Potter raises an eyebrow. “Because you stormed off like an affronted diva in the middle of our conversation?”</p>
<p>The diva comment surely deserves Draco’s signature scowl. He instantly regrets it, though, as it makes Potter avert his gaze, returning his attention to the pond while distractedly handing over… <em>Draco’s scarf?</em></p>
<p>
  <em>What the…?</em>
</p>
<p>Draco accepts it, dumbfounded, mumbling a confused ‘thank you’ as he wraps the long, warm, knitted garment several times around his neck. He may be imagining it, but the scarf feels even warmer than usual; as if someone has cast a heating charm on it. Grateful and more than a little off-kilter, Draco curls his cold hands into its ends and resumes his leaning position against the railing by Potter’s side.</p>
<p>“That was hardly a conversation,” he mutters, reminding himself that he’s still quite upset about the happenings of the past hour. “I didn’t need to hear more of that rambling, I got the gist.”</p>
<p>“You did?” Potter asks. And there’s that bloody eyebrow again, mocking him. “So why did you storm off?”</p>
<p>Draco sighs, keeping his gaze locked on the bronze eagle in front of him. He’s quite sure the answer to that question is more than obvious for anyone with more than two functioning brain cells. He doesn’t want to have to spell it out for him. He doesn’t want to ever have to speak the mortifying words out loud.</p>
<p>“Potter, if you haven’t realised that by now I’m not sure you ever will.”</p>
<p>“I think I’m starting to,” Potter says softly, “but why don’t you tell me?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Potter’s eyes stay fixed on Draco’s profile for a long time, Draco can feel the heat of them burning his skin even through his coat. Eventually, they return to the pond and Draco is able to breathe once more.</p>
<p>The following silence stretches over several minutes — heavy, stifling, deafening — accompanied only by the cascading water behind them and the late evening traffic down on Marylebone Road. It’s not uncomfortable as such, yet Potter’s uncharacteristic behaviour makes the situation deeply discomforting. Calm, quiet, relaxed and patient were never words usually fitting to describe the bundle of energy that is Harry Potter.</p>
<p>Silent Potter is unnerving. It’s itching, tickling, tingling. It’s prickling over Draco’s skin like a myriad of ants, reducing him to nothing but nerves, tension, rushing blood and whirling thoughts.</p>
<p>Apparently, all it takes for Potter to break him these days is a composed silence.</p>
<p>Draco sighs, tightening his grip on the scarf. Keeping his eyes on the eagle, he speaks, unable to prevent his voice coming out all rough, frail, and trembling.</p>
<p>“You were waxing lyrical about a man that’s supposedly your one and only. What do you want me to say?” Draco clears his throat and attempts a teasing tone to veil his pain, probably failing spectacularly. “Congratulations, Potter. I hope you’ll have a wonderful life together. He sounds perfect.”</p>
<p>“Nobody's perfect, trust me, Draco. Least of all, him,” Potter says, glancing over at Draco with an amused smirk curving his lips.</p>
<p>Draco frowns, hating that smirk for what it does to his already aching heart.</p>
<p>“You sure made him out to be,” he says, biting back a groan as he hears how petulant he sounds and decidedly ignoring Potter’s smirk which only grows wider.</p>
<p>“That’s just because you upped and left before letting me finish,” Potter chuckles, nudging Draco’s arm lightly with his elbow. “Let me tell you some more about this bloke.”</p>
<p>Draco has no desire to know a single detail more about Mr Bloody Perfect. He has no idea why he yet acquiesces. <em>Well… Yeah, that’s right, I forgot. I’m a masochist.</em></p>
<p>“He’s useless in the kitchen,” Potter muses, “really can’t cook for shit. For a man with such refined taste buds, you’d think he’d be capable of more than baked beans on toast, right?” He snorts, shaking his head with a soppy smile.</p>
<p><em>So, Mr Bloody Perfect isn’t flawless, after all? </em><em>Who would’ve thought?</em> Too bad his weakness isn’t in a field where Draco excels. It would’ve felt even better if that had been the case.</p>
<p>When Potter continues, his voice is so heavily laced with amusement he’s practically giggling.</p>
<p>“He’s a horrible morning person. You know, before that first cup of coffee… he’s the grumpiest old bugger you could ever imagine.” <em>Worse than me?</em> “And yet he always insists on staying up reading long into the middle of the night even when he’s got an early start in the morning.” Potter pauses and Draco makes the mistake to glance at him. There’s that besotted head-shake again. Draco hates that head-shake. <em>So, you find it cute when he does it, do you? And yet you’re always pestering me whenever I do the same? </em>“Plus, he’s a terrible cheat, and the sorest loser I ever met. He can stay petulant and moody for days after a bloody game of Go Fish if he wasn’t victorious.”</p>
<p>Potter laughs, turning those bright green eyes to look at Draco. Draco doesn’t want to meet them, doesn’t want to see the fondness dancing in those eyes, and yet he finds himself incapable of looking away. He’s so gorgeous, so perfect. He deserves to finally find his one true love, no matter the pain raging in Draco’s chest, the onslaught on his already battered, bruised heart.</p>
<p>Potter’s expression sobers, his sparkling eyes turning softer, warmer, as he continues.</p>
<p>“He’s not all that good at expressing or communicating his emotions. He never allows himself to show any trace of vulnerability and would sooner lash out in anger than admit weakness. I think it’s because of his upbringing,” he adds. “I think he believes it would make him inferior when, in fact, it would only make him human.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Most definitely because of his upbringing. Believe me, I should know.</em>
</p>
<p>Draco swallows. It’s so hard to resist drowning in those eyes.</p>
<p>“And you love him despite all that?” he asks, voice ragged and weak, ignoring his heart shattering and mustering up a faint smile. “Surely, you can do better, Potter?”</p>
<p>Potter looks so happy when he laughs, so bloody happy. “No, you silly sod. I don’t love him <em>despite</em> all that — I love him <em>because</em> of all that. It’s all part of what makes him who he is.”</p>
<p>Potter’s close, far too close, and Draco fights the magnetic pull. He needs space to breathe, distance to survive. Straightening, he turns to face Potter fully, drawing back his shoulders and crossing his arms in front of him. Potter watches him with interest, raising an eyebrow in question before mirroring Draco’s stance, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jea— perfectly tailored trousers.</p>
<p><em>Fuck</em>.</p>
<p>Draco can’t stop his gaze from travelling the length of Potter’s perfect <strike>body</strike> suit. He hadn’t realised Potter was still wearing his fancy date clothes, the outfit Draco had picked out for him, the outfit that makes him look so bloody gorgeous Draco’s knees are now threatening to give out under him. When Draco finally manages to tear his eyes from Potter’s <strike>body</strike> clothes, it’s only to catch sight of something even worse.</p>
<p>Potter’s smiling. No, correction: Potter’s trying to hold back a smile by — <em>ngh</em> — biting down on his lower lip. It doesn’t work. It’s one of those smiles that, although unassuming, has the ability to take over his whole face. The kind of smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.</p>
<p>Desperately trying to hold on to his sanity, Draco replays Potter’s words and frowns as another thought strikes him.</p>
<p>“How do you even know all those things about this guy anyway? I thought you just met him?”</p>
<p>“Um…”</p>
<p>Potter furrows his brows and averts his gaze for a moment. It may just be Draco’s imagination, but now that he’s standing right in front of him it almost looks as if Potter’s nervous. Then again, rosy cheeks, tense shoulders, and a slightly bouncing stance are also quite normal signs that someone’s feeling cold. And Potter doesn’t even have a proper coat, just that flimsy suit jacket.</p>
<p>Eventually coming back from his mental detour, Potter returns his eyes to Draco’s.</p>
<p>“I admit it felt a bit like seeing him for the first time tonight,” he says slowly, thoughtful, “but in truth, I’ve actually known him half my life.” A faint smile crosses his lips before he huffs a dry self-deprecating laugh. “Godric knows why it’s taken me so long to realise he’s the only one that I want.”</p>
<p>“Then what are you even doing here, Potter?” Draco blurts, confused. “If he’s the one you want, then why aren’t you with him?”</p>
<p>“I am.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chorus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>CHORUS</strong>
</p>
<p> (n.) <em>The part of a song that is repeated, usually after each verse. The chorus contains the main idea, or big picture, of what is being expressed lyrically and musically.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>There. I said it.</em>
</p>
<p>Harry waits, heart racing, mind whirling, lungs burning. He watches with a sting of trepidation as Draco’s features transform with the rapidly turning cogs in his head; bewilderment, doubt, scepticism, wariness…</p>
<p><em>Fuck</em>.</p>
<p>He’d been almost certain Draco had feelings for him, too. Granted, the man is a master at hiding his emotions, but ever since Harry saw that frozen image of the enamoured couple on their magical carpet, he’d known.</p>
<p>Or, at least, he’d thought he did.</p>
<p>Until now.</p>
<p>It doesn’t make any sense.</p>
<p>After Apparating to the park, as he made his way through the gardens in search of Draco, Harry had spent a good few minutes going through their interactions of the last few weeks — no, <em>months</em>. It had all felt so crystal clear then, so obvious he’d even berated himself for not realising it sooner. Draco’s lingering looks, his attentiveness, his perfectly made cups of tea and cute little notes left randomly around the flat where he knew Harry would eventually find and read them.</p>
<p>And up until just now, Harry could’ve sworn Draco was perfectly aware of Harry’s feelings for him, too. Draco’s no idiot — knowing him, he’d probably figured it out long before Harry himself did — and since he’s also a fucking twat, surely he’d think it funny to feign obliviousness just to goad Harry into admitting his feelings out loud? Because there’s absolutely no way Draco’s really this oblivious.</p>
<p>Yes, it <em>had</em> confused Harry a bit at first, but as soon as he caught up on Draco’s game, he’d readily raised to the challenge. While fighting the urge to just give in and blurt his heart out, Harry had seriously enjoyed their playful banter. He’d enjoyed searching his mind over and over for yet another blatant clue to offer the man in the hopes that Draco would be the first one to break. Harry had enjoyed every minute of it.</p>
<p>Until now.</p>
<p>Because Draco’s looking on the verge of panic, and all Harry can do is stand there and watch in horror as the confused frown turns into surprise-widened eyes and then… a pained scowl.</p>
<p>“Why?” Draco finally grits, his voice strained and cold as ice. “Why are you doing this to me? You can’t just—”</p>
<p>Harry winces, wanting to turn back time, wanting to take it all back, wanting anything that’d help him get back to where they were before.</p>
<p>“I— I’m sorry, Draco,” he stammers, shaking his head apologetically. “I’m so, so… I—” Knitted brows, eyes tearing up, Harry raises trembling hands in surrender, takes a step back, another, another. “I thought we… but, apparently, I— I was wrong. Please, forgive me, Draco…”</p>
<p><em>Fuck</em>. Why must he always be so impatient, so reckless? He’s probably been in love with Draco for ages without realising it, and now that he finally has, he’s not even capable of holding back for an hour before ruining everything. Before practically throwing himself at the man. Before scaring him away…</p>
<p>“I-I get if you don’t want to— to… after this, but… but I don’t want to lose you, Draco. I can’t. If you can ever forgive me for—”</p>
<p>“Wait…”</p>
<p>Harry stills at the sound of Draco’s faint plea. Even from a few yards away, and despite the darkness of the late evening, Draco suddenly looks alarmingly pale, his neat blond eyebrows furrowed over dark stormy grey eyes. He looks torn, almost desperate, lips slightly parted, chest heaving in unison with the short, panted breaths escaping his mouth in delicate wisps of air.</p>
<p>“You’re not…?” he whispers, “You’re… you’re actually <em>serious</em>?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Harry says, smiling faintly, wobbly. The understanding washing over him after Draco’s words is so powerful it leaves him swaying. “Yes, I’m serious, you silly sod.” A flicker of hope sets Harry in motion, spurring him to walk back up to Draco on slightly shaky legs. “You honestly thought I was just messing with you?”</p>
<p>Draco shrugs. “Well, I… You kept on talking about this guy, and…”</p>
<p>“Draco,” Harry says softly, watching mesmerised as Draco’s cheeks flush an adorable rosy hue. “Whoever did you think I was talking about?”</p>
<p>Draco stays silent, but his eyes speak for him. He still looks mostly incredulous, but it’s slowly fading and, in its place, something else is starting to shine through, something glorious. Amazement. Awe.</p>
<p>Encouraged by the sight, Harry shakes his head in exasperation, letting all his fondness for Draco fill him to the brim as he smiles. “Draco, you’ve been on my mind the entire evening,” he says, looking straight into those big bright eyes. “The date was lovely — the food, the venue, the company — and yet, all I could think of was you. Once I realised that, I just <em>had</em> to excuse myself and get back home to you as soon as possible. I— I even skipped dessert, for Circe’s sake,” he chuckles.</p>
<p>“You—? And then you…” Draco breathes. “<em>Oh, holy fuck…</em>”</p>
<p>He reaches out a hand, stopping himself merely inches from Harry’s cheek. Harry might be imagining it, but he’s almost sure he can feel Draco’s body heat caressing his jaw. He recognises Draco’s familiar self-protective shield as soon as it flickers alive, leaving his features guarded and inscrutable.</p>
<p>“What do you want with me, Potter?” he says slowly. “Because, if it’s just—”</p>
<p>Draco quietens as Harry catches his hand with his own, preventing Draco from withdrawing it as he’d been about to do. Without breaking eye contact, he guides it to his lips and places a soft kiss on Draco’s palm. His skin is so soft and smooth, so fucking perfect — <em>just like the rest of him</em>, Harry muses as his belly is invaded by a swarm of overexcited pixies.</p>
<p>“What I want?” he murmurs, giddy, raising an eyebrow to accompany a lopsided grin. “Nothing much, really, just…” Harry pauses, kisses Draco’s hand again, and watches Draco’s eyes widen as he continues. “Just… everything.”</p>
<p>Draco gasps and Harry quickly sobers as he detects the first traces of panic returning to Draco’s face.</p>
<p><em>Fuck</em>.</p>
<p>Dropping their hands to the side, not letting go of Draco’s cold slender fingers, Harry hastens to revise his bloody lion’s impulsive bluntness.</p>
<p>“Hey,” he says softly, squeezing Draco’s hand. “I’m not asking you to give up your heart or anything. I know it’s not easy… And I’m aware that this is probably all too fast, and all kinds of crazy, and that we’ll probably mess this up like a million times — I mean, come on, it’s us.” Harry chuckles and marvels at the faint smile ghosting over Draco’s lips, the amusement twinkling in his eyes. “But we'll never know if we never try, and I know that you don’t have any reason to trust me, that my dating history is far from encouraging, but if you’d just be willing to give me the chance, I’d prove that I'm the one who can walk that extra mile to m-<em>mmm…</em>”</p>
<p>Harry’s fully aware he’s been rambling, and he has no objections whatsoever to being silenced by Draco’s mouth on his. Draco’s lips are soft and gentle, tentative, and cool to the touch. Yet, they’re eager and desperate, starving, and the panting breaths escaping them are scorching hot against Harry’s skin. Draco’s lips taste sweet of chocolate and vanilla, and they’re absolutely delicious. Harry can’t get enough of them, doesn’t know if he ever will.</p>
<p>Somehow, Harry’s hands are suddenly buried in Draco’s hair, eager fingers carding through silky-smooth locks, fingertips stroking over a warm and excitingly unfamiliar scalp. Tilting his head, pulling him in, pressing his mouth closer, Harry elicits a knee-weakening moan from Draco’s throat. And then there are hands snaking in under Harry’s suit jacket, hugging his hips, trailing his waistband, sliding over the posh fabric of his trousers, gripping his arse and tugging him closer still.</p>
<p>Harry groans at the sensation of Draco’s hard length against his groin, his own against Draco’s, and he grips broad, muscled shoulders tightly to prevent himself from falling, from soaring. The tip of one probing tongue finds another and Harry’s world explodes from the taste of it — the taste of fulfilment, of perfection… the taste of <em>Draco</em>.</p>
<p>It’s hot, wet, slick, exquisite. It’s licking, sucking, nibbling, and exciting. It’s longing, yearning, craving, and so fucking exhilarating. Harry’s lungs burn from lack of oxygen, but he doesn’t care. Because kissing Draco is more important; more important than air, more important than life. One of them moans, maybe it’s both, a deep lust-filled moan that makes Harry dizzy. Or, maybe it’s the not-breathing that makes him dizzy, Harry doesn’t know, doesn’t care. He’s kissing Draco, <em>Draco Fucking Malfoy</em>, and he never ever wants to stop.</p>
<p>But then Draco thrusts against him, bites down on Harry’s bottom lip and whines, a needy desperate sound that sends a shiver of raw desire down Harry’s spine and snaps his head back with a gasp.</p>
<p>“Oh, Merlin… Draco… <em>Fuck</em>… I… Yes… Good Godric… <em>Please</em>…” Harry blabbers, senseless, all but delirious from the kisses Draco’s hot lips are trailing along his jaw, down his throat.</p>
<p>“Fuck, Potter…” Draco whispers between kisses, “I want… I need… Salazar, I can’t… It’s… so long… Never thought… <em>Fuck</em>…”</p>
<p>Harry is high. High on sensations, on emotions, high on Draco…</p>
<p>The brush of something cold against his exposed neck, the frozen tip of a pointy nose, brings Harry back to the present, to the tranquil garden and the cascading waterfall and the chilly evening air.</p>
<p>“Draco…” he pants, breathless, brushing his hands through Draco’s hair, tugging gently to make him raise his head from where it’s buried in the curve of Harry’s neck. “Draco…”</p>
<p>Eyes — fierce, unfocused, darker than Harry’s never seen them before — blazing with lust, with want, with hunger. Flushed cheeks, rumpled hair, parted kiss-swollen lips exhaling short ragged puffs of air that sweep over Harry’s skin and attempt to fog up his glasses.</p>
<p>Harry cups Draco’s jaw, brushing his thumb over his cold, rosy cheek, biting down on his own bottom lip to rein in the lion, to keep it from pouncing long enough to murmur, “You’re freezing, Draco. Come on, let’s head back.”</p>
<p>Draco closes his eyes, takes a calming breath, and nods. </p>
<p>“Yeah… all right…” Another nod makes his blond fringe fall into his eyes, and then he takes a firm step back, loosening his hold on Harry’s waist. When his eyes open again, they’ve calmed down somewhat and Harry can’t wait to see them back in their delirious state from before. Draco swallows, fixing his gaze on something over Harry’s right shoulder, and says: “So, walk, tube, bus? You choose, I’m fine with whatever—”</p>
<p>“I was thinking we’d Apparate,” Harry blurts, too impatient to wait more than a minute longer than necessary to get Draco inside, preferably into a warm soft bed.</p>
<p>Draco blinks, winces. “But… I don’t have my wand…”</p>
<p>“Side-Along?” Harry proposes with a smile, a smile that falters as soon as he watches Draco hesitate. Harry can’t really blame him for looking so sceptical. They almost never travel magically these days, and not even Harry himself can remember the last time he Side-Alonged anyone. Plus, he’s still quite dizzy, a fact that usually doesn’t help with any of the three Ds of Apparition. However, none of this can keep Harry from smirking and offering his forearm. “Do you trust me?”</p>
<p>Draco’s mouth twitches at the corners. “Yes…” he drawls, making Harry’s heart jump as he nails Jasmine’s mischievous smirk.</p>
<p>“Then, let’s go home.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Fast-Forward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>FAST-FORWARD</strong>
</p>
<p>(v.) <em>To advance an audio or video recording rapidly.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Four weeks later</p>
<hr/>
<p>The sound of another muttered curse finds its way into the sitting room, interrupting Harry’s train of thought for the umpteenth time and making his lips curl into an amused smile. It’s not as if this crossword has to be completed today, Harry only took it out for distraction in the first place, attempting to stay out of Draco’s way long enough for him to get ready in peace. After two years as flatmates and four weeks as boyfriends, Harry knows when to make himself scarce. Yet, Draco has left their bedroom door open a crack — something he almost never does, even if it’s happened more often lately — and Harry decides to interpret it as an unspoken invitation.</p>
<p>“How’s it going in there?” he calls, “I haven’t heard you so agitated since just before that job interview at Daunt Books when you accidentally conjured a tornado in your room. What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“Nothing’s wrong,” Draco calls back through gritted teeth. His answer is followed by a muffled groan of exasperation that immediately negates the previous statement. “I just…”</p>
<p>It’s fairly unusual for Draco to leave his sentences unfinished, something that only ever happens when he’s really stressed out or preoccupied. Harry has no idea why he finds it so adorable.</p>
<p>He waits impatiently for a few moments, giving Draco a chance to compose himself before asking, “You sure about that?”</p>
<p>It’s not like they’re running late or anything, it’s just… unusual for Draco not to have everything under perfect control. Usually when they’re going out, Draco’s always prepared and ready to go long before necessary. Usually when they’re going out, Draco’s the one sighing and nagging Harry about being late and unorganised.</p>
<p>When no answer comes and the silence remains long enough to spike his curiosity to unbearable levels, Harry abandons his magazine on the coffee table and goes to check <strike>out</strike> on his boyfriend.</p>
<p>Pushing the door open, he finds Draco seated on the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands. He’s still mostly undressed, the jutting vertebrae of his curved spine and the expanse of smooth pale skin drawing Harry’s eyes like moths to a flame. Harry’s sorely tempted to crawl over the bed on his hands and knees to lick his way down that spine, to nuzzle that elegant neck, to kiss the tension away from those broad shoulders and taste every inch of that skin until Draco writhes in pleasure. There’s nothing quite like causing Draco to do that, Harry’s found. Maybe they’d still have time to—</p>
<p>Harry swallows. Clears his throat.</p>
<p>“What’s on your mind, love?” he asks once he manages to quell his growing arousal. Then, reflexively, “Is there anything I can help you with?”</p>
<p>Apparently, his ‘helping people syndrome’, as Draco calls it, is still alive and kicking.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Draco’s response sounds just as reflexive, but even if his refusal of help is nothing out of the ordinary, Draco’s hunched posture is. Harry suspects he knows what’s going on, has observed Draco’s tension increase over several days now in wait for this day, and if he’s honest, he’s all but expected this to happen sooner or later. Harry abandons his spot by the doorframe and crosses the thick, <em>seashell-coloured</em> carpet to take a seat next to his agitated boyfriend.</p>
<p>Draco makes no sign of acknowledging his approach even though he must have registered the dip in the mattress as Harry sat down. Stroking Draco’s soft warm back with a tentative hand, Harry bends down to try catching Draco’s eye behind the curtain of platinum-blond locks falling in front of his chiselled face.</p>
<p>“Hey,” he says softly, “you know, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, right? I have to go, but you can stay home if—”</p>
<p>“No.” Draco sighs, raking his hands through his hair and finally looking up to meet Harry’s gaze. His eyes are stormy grey, whirling with conflicting emotions, and his neat, curved brows are slightly furrowed in a pained frown. “No, Harry, I want to go. I do. I just—” He drifts off, shifting his gaze to look out the window and taking a deep breath. “I just don’t know if I can.”</p>
<p>Harry aches for him, feeling his heart clench at the sight of his boyfriend in such an agonised state. He can’t deny that he’s been looking forward to having Draco by his side today, but he’d never force him to come if he felt it all too much to deal with. There’ll be other opportunities in the future, and Harry will probably make it through the day even if Draco decides to stay at home. Probably.</p>
<p>Still, Draco had been the one to propose it in the first place, as far back as that first night when they got together. They’d been lying together on this very bed, Harry on his back, losing himself in the starry sky above, still blissed out after the most intense orgasm of his life. Draco had laid pressed to his side, his leg draped over Harry’s thighs with one hand supporting his head and the other stroking Harry’s chest, his fingertips running languidly through the dark curls sprinkled around and between his sensitive nipples.</p>
<p>
  <em>*</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Don’t you dare attend any more of those wizarding events alone, you hear me?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“But the war remembrance ceremony is only a few weeks away. You know I have to go…”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I didn’t say you shouldn’t go, I said—”</em>
</p>
<p><em>“—that I… shouldn’t go </em>alone<em>… So, you’re saying… you’d come</em> with <em>me? But you hate those things?”</em></p>
<p>
  <em>“I do. But I will. Can’t have anyone thinking you’re still single and available for wooing, can we? If you don’t… Maybe you don’t want to be seen with me?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Of course I wouldn’t mind being seen with you, you silly sod. I’d be thrilled to have you there.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Then, it’s a date.”</em>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Harry hadn’t really taken his word for it at the time — post-coital elation and all that — but when the topic had come up again a few days later, he’d started to believe Draco was actually serious about going with him to the ceremony. He knows now that Draco wants to attend, not only because of his possessive need to protect Harry from potential suitors, but also because he does want to honour the victims of the war and show his respect for those who risked their lives to save the wizarding world from Voldemort’s reign.</p>
<p>Draco’s hands are clenching and unclenching in his lap, and Harry reaches out his free hand to cover the nearest one with his own, squeezing it lightly and brushing his thumb over smooth bony knuckles.</p>
<p>“It’s going to be alright,” he says, “I promise. I know you haven’t been back in a really long time, but you don’t have to be afraid. No one’s going to try anything as long as you’re with me.”</p>
<p>Draco doesn’t turn to look at him, but his hand relaxes under Harry’s palm, long pale fingers curling gently around tanned shorter ones.</p>
<p>“I know,” he murmurs. “I-I don't know why I'm scared, I've been there before and I know I shouldn’t worry like this, but…” Draco swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing along his slender neck. “I've imagined it, you know; all of it — every feeling, every word, every possible scenario — and you might say it’ll be alright but…” He finally turns his head to meet Harry’s eyes again, his gaze intense and shiny like molten silver. “I was a fucking Death Eater, Harry. There’s no reason for them to ever forgive me for what I did.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Draco.” Harry sighs with knitted brows, sliding down to kneel on the floor between Draco’s thighs. Looking up, searching his boyfriend’s face, Harry reaches out both hands to brush blond silky-soft hair out of those stunning grey eyes “You need to forgive your past, love. The war is over, you’re a different person now. You know that. I know that. It’s all that matters. Let the others think whatever the hell they want.”</p>
<p>“But what if they attack <em>you</em>,” Draco splutters, suddenly vehement, “for being with me? What if they think I’ve manipulated you or something and they want to ‘rescue’ you? I’m pretty sure they won’t find someone like me worthy to be anywhere near their precious saviour.”</p>
<p>Harry can’t even remember when he last saw Draco this insecure and self-doubting. And for all that his boyfriend’s cocky confidence can be infuriating at times, right now Harry really fucking misses it.</p>
<p>“You know what?” he grits, locking determined eyes with Draco’s and rising from the floor. Draco straightens to look up at him, parting his lips in surprise at Harry’s sudden mood change. Harry leans in, close, close enough for their noses to almost touch as he continues, slowly, quietly, unerringly. “I don’t fucking care what they think. If I want my gorgeous boyfriend there with me, nothing anybody has to say about it will ever change that.”  Draco gasps, leaning back to lie on the bed as Harry presses closer, straddling him, planting his hands on either side of Draco’s head. “If I want to hold my boyfriend in my arms on that bloody dance floor, they’ll just have to accept it. No one but me decides who’s worthy or not, and I can’t think of anyone more worthy than you.”</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>Draco blinks up at him, eyes dark and wide with astonishment, short ragged breaths causing his chest to heave rapidly. His doubt, although still perceptible, has receded, chased away by Harry’s words, driven back by something wild, eager, hungry… <em>He’s aroused</em>, Harry realises, just before something warm and smooth nudges the inside of his thigh — Draco’s silk-covered twitching cock.</p>
<p>Harry smiles. “I promise.”</p>
<p>The words are barely past his lips before strong hands wrap around the back of Harry’s neck and Draco pulls himself up to crash his mouth against Harry’s. It’s hot and wet and demanding, hungry teeth nibbling on sensitive lips, eager tongue invading, licking, exploring, devouring. Draco tastes of minty toothpaste, smells like fresh lemony perfection, and sounds like Harry’s every wet dream — panting, moaning, whimpering.</p>
<p>Harry dips his head to place a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the elegant curve of Draco’s shoulder, revelling the feeling of Draco’s fingers buried deep in his unruly hair as the man tilts his head with a groan to give Harry better access. Harry obliges the silent plea, grazing the flushed skin of Draco’s neck with his teeth and lowering his hips to let his swelling cock brush lightly against Draco’s, teasing, taunting, tempting; triggering a gasp and a desperate thrust from Draco as the man arches from the bed to meet Harry’s crotch with his own.</p>
<p>“You’re mine,” Draco growls, the husky sound sending sparks of white-hot arousal through Harry’s body, the words clutching possessively around Harry’s rapidly beating heart.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Harry whispers, nipping at Draco’s earlobe before adding, “I’m yours.”</p>
<p>The next moment, Harry blinks up at Draco’s smirking face, drinking in the smug satisfaction in his features and the mischievous glint in his narrowed eyes.</p>
<p>“Mine,” he repeats, his voice feral; rich and low and absolutely breathtaking.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Harry groans desperately, “fuck yes.”</p>
<p>He wants to reach up and touch him; to grab him by the shoulders and force him closer; to tug on his gorgeous blond hair and make him bare his throat for Harry’s tongue and lips; to pinch his nipples and elicit those delicious sounds Harry’s come to love so much — but Draco has his wrists pinned firmly to the mattress and Harry is left completely at his mercy.</p>
<p>Not that he really minds being left completely at Draco’s mercy.</p>
<p>Harry guesses he shouldn’t have been surprised the first time this possessive, dominant side of his boyfriend breached those carefully built-up walls. The man has always been fiercely loyal and protective of those few in his life that he genuinely cares about, and Harry guesses he does belong to those selected few nowadays, suspects he probably has done for quite some time. Yet, it had surprised him a little bit. Harry hadn’t realised how carefully Draco had held himself back before, how much of himself he’d been hiding away with fear of exposing his inconvenient feelings. Harry had become so used to the casual, laid-back Draco that he’d almost forgotten how passionate the man can be when provoked.</p>
<p>Like now.</p>
<p>Harry’s inner snake hisses victoriously as it acknowledges its success; Harry’s assured, confident boyfriend is already well on his way back from where he’s been hiding, and now that Harry can see him, he wants him. Needs him. <em>Craves</em> him.</p>
<p>“Fuck me,” he breathes, thrusting his hips futilely into thin air.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Draco’s smirk grows wider, his eyes darker. The tips of his blond locks tickle Harry’s forehead and Harry’s almost sure Draco’s doing it on purpose.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Harry confirms, more sigh than sound. “Fuck me, Draco. Please.”</p>
<p>What comes out of his boyfriend’s throat then can only be described as a snarl, and Harry has just enough time to notice Draco’s eyes narrowing before his panted breaths are once more obstructed by Draco’s hot, hungry mouth. The grip on his wrists tightens and Harry presses up to meet the fervent grinding of Draco’s hard leaking cock.</p>
<p>“We don’t have time for this,” Draco mumbles between kisses, “we’re going to be late.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care,” Harry murmurs, too far gone to care about such trivial things as time and etiquette and the world outside of their bedroom. “I want you inside me. I want to feel the ache of you inside me for the rest of the day.”</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Draco gasps, incredulous. “You’re insane. Kinky and insane.”</p>
<p>He’s obviously trying to act appalled by the mere notion of showing up freshly shagged at a war remembrance ceremony, but Harry knows he secretly loves the idea of Harry mingling with his old friends and the general wizarding elite with a sore, stretched rim as a physical reminder of just having had Draco’s cock buried deep his arse. Harry smirks.</p>
<p>“Maybe I am, but do you really want to waste precious time analysing my poor mental state right now?”</p>
<p>“You know how much I love analysing your poor mental state,” Draco grins.</p>
<p>“True,” Harry concedes, feigning a serious pensive expression. “Personally, I think I prefer a thorough shagging, though.”</p>
<p>Exasperated, Draco shakes his head. “You’re insufferable, you know.”</p>
<p>The fond twinkle in his warm grey eyes travels like tickling sparks of delight over Harry’s skin.</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>They don’t even take time to undress Harry fully, leaving his shirt scrunched up around his torso as Draco takes him roughly and gloriously from behind. It’s not always this frantic between them — far from it — but it happens from time to time, and when it does, it’s usually fuelled by their mutual need to quell Draco’s insecurities and reassure him that this is real, that <em>they</em> are real. Other times, it can be hurried and desperate, born from a sudden craving of closeness and passion in the middle of anything from cooking to morning bathroom rituals or casual lounging in front of the telly. Most of the time, though, it’s slow and sweet and sensual, gentle caresses, exploring mouths and fingers, teasing to the brink of madness, murmurs of love and filth and barbs and praise in a wonderfully weird and intoxicating combination.</p>
<p>This time it’s all over far too quickly, not because they’re short of time but because they’re too impatient to take it slow, too desperate to drag it out. Before he knows it, Harry’s lying on his back, panting, aching, smiling, looking up at their painted sky full of stars.</p>
<p>He hasn’t slept in his old room since they came back from Queen Mary’s Garden that night. It’s only a month ago, but it feels like a lifetime, as if they’ve always been together, as if those distant memories from a less amicable past is nothing but a silly work of fiction, a story taken directly from one of the colourful hardbacks on the fantasy shelf in Draco’s book shop.</p>
<p>“I’m thinking,” Draco muses once their breathing has returned to normal and Harry’s heart has slowed down enough not to batter against his ribs anymore.</p>
<p>“Huh?” Harry offers, struggling to switch on his mind. It’s hard to focus on any mental activities when Draco’s fingertips run so lightly over his skin.</p>
<p>“I think we’ll need something to show them you’re not their eligible bachelor anymore, that you’re already taken.”</p>
<p>Amused, Harry raises an eyebrow. “Something more than those matching outfits you’ve already picked out for us?”</p>
<p>“Mm-hmm.” He looks so smug and suddenly Harry is on full alert.</p>
<p>”Like what?” he inquires, sitting up and turning to face Draco, searching his features for clues about what’s going on in his boyfriend’s inscrutable mind.</p>
<p>“How about…” Draco pauses — <em>fucking drama queen</em> — and reaches out a hand to summon a small black box from his dresser. Harry’s heart leaps to his throat as Draco opens the box and continues, “…matching rings?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, Merlin.</em>
</p>
<p>Harry can but stare at him, caught like a stag in headlights as he struggles to remember how to breathe.</p>
<p>“You…?” he croaks eloquently, flicking his gaze to the box where two platinum rings are gleaming back at him. Harry blinks and looks up to meet Draco’s eyes. They’re dancing with amusement and affection and Harry’s head is spinning. “You…”</p>
<p>When Harry falters once again, Draco clears his throat and speaks, his voice warm and deep and trembling. “I dare you, Harry James Potter, to let me be your one and only — the Jasmine to your Aladdin — for as long as we both shall live.”</p>
<p>There’s an uncertain smile curving his lips and Harry’s heart swells from the sight of it, from his words, from the thought of the two of them together forever. Lost for words, Harry nods, feeling a wobbly smile transforming his face from astonishment to pure radiant happiness.</p>
<p>Draco’s smile widens, setting off a cascade of fireworks in Harry’s chest spectacular enough to almost make him miss Draco’s next words.</p>
<p>“You're speechless, I see.” He mimics Jafar’s haughty tone and winks. “Such a fine quality in a wife.”</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck off,” Harry chuckles, giving Draco’s shoulder a playful shove. The constant banter between them will probably never cease, and Harry doesn’t want it to. It’s just the way they are together, the way it’s always been and the way it’ll always be. It’s part of what makes what they have together so amazing, so thrilling, so perfect. “Which one’s mine?”</p>
<p>Draco takes one of the rings from the box and reaches out for Harry’s hand, placing the ring on Harry’s finger before letting Harry do the same with his own ring. Harry leans in and presses a soft chaste kiss on Draco’s lips.</p>
<p>“Come on, my sappy sod,” Harry says lightly, scrambling off the bed to retrieve his pants and trousers from where they lie discarded on the rich, <em>seashell-coloured</em> carpet. “We have a hoopla to attend and I have a brand-new ring to show off.”</p>
<p>Draco sighs but scrambles after him, picking up his wand from the bedside table and casting an effective ironing charm on Harry’s rumpled dress shirt. Harry can only smile at the silent care washing over him in the form of Draco’s tingling magic.</p>
<p>“I love you,” he says, just because he does.</p>
<p>Draco smiles. “I love you, too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Did you like it?<br/>Did you hate it?<br/>Did it make you smile? Cry? Laugh? Gasp? Fret? Scream? Sing?</p><p>Please. let me know... I'd love to hear what you think.</p><hr/><p>🎵 This work is part of H/D Wireless, a song inspired, anon, Drarry fest with its home on tumblr! </p><p>If you enjoyed this, shower our content creators with all the love you have to give by leaving kudos ❤️ and comments 💌 on their work!</p><p>  <a href="http://hd-wireless.tumblr.com/">Check out the fest tumblr to find even more works and daily updates!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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